


Shuffle Up and Deal

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Drama, Dubious Consent, Gambling, Humor, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Shout-out to Accounting Nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s pretty simple, really,” said Harvey.  “This group convenes here at ten o'clock on the first Friday of every month.  We play poker – dealer’s choice – for the next four hours.  We play for money, but to make things more interesting, the overall winner of the night also takes home the jackpot.”</p><p>Mike glanced around the table, but found no clues forthcoming, so he asked, “Jackpot?”</p><p>“Haven’t you guessed yet?  That would be you.”</p><p>Mike opened his mouth, but nothing came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The WIP I'm working on is stressing me the hell out, so I took a short break to start this new story. I predict it will have many chapters, and hopefully not a ton of angst. I may have to add more tags later. We'll see how it goes. I hope you like it.

Mike cursed under his breath as he locked up his bike. How had he slept through his alarm?

Feeling his neck sweat under his dark blue shirt and plaid tie, he straightened up and checked the time on his phone. _Damn it_. Already 7:57. He still needed to wade through the crowd and locate the right elevator. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late on his first day, and Carla did not seem like a forgiving sort of boss.

He sprinted as much as he was able, given the press of bodies, weaving in and out of the moving mass of well-dressed humanity. He found himself in the wrong elevator bay, backtracked and skidded around a corner to spot an elevator just sliding shut. He lunged for the “up” button, pressing it frantically.

Slowly, the doors paused and then reopened, revealing a tightly packed car. He could almost smell the Gucci and Tom Ford and Louis Vuitton wafting out. On another day, he might have waited for the next elevator, but he really didn’t want to be late, so with muttered _excuse me_ ’s and a couple of well-placed elbows, he sandwiched himself into the car, ignoring the annoyed glares sent his way.

Of course, the way his morning was going, the elevator stopped on nearly every single floor on the way up to forty-seven. Gradually, the crowd thinned out, until he was alone except for one man. _Lawyer,_ declared the immaculate suit and arrogant stance. _Hot as fuck,_ proclaimed the man’s solidly trim physique and darkly sardonic expression.

Hot-as-fuck had been texting religiously the whole ride up, not that Mike had been staring or anything, and Mike gave a nervous start when the man suddenly spoke. “First day?”

Mike’s heart sped up stupidly. “Uh. Yeah. Billing department. New guy here.” Did he really look that green?

“Christ, kid. Even the clerks in the mailroom dress nicer than you. You really should invest in some better clothes.” He looked up from his phone and gave Mike a wicked half-smile. “Might make you look like less of a rookie.”

Mike knew he was blushing. By now, even the waistband of his brand new khakis was damp with flop sweat.

With a welcome, blessed ding, the elevator announced their arrival at forty-seven. Mike made a move toward the door, but was body-blocked by Hot-as fuck, who beat him to it. Mike stepped out into the carpeted lobby half a step behind the other man. “My name’s Mike, by the way,” he muttered, perhaps a shade sarcastically.

“Don’t care,” H-A-F dismissed him, and disappeared around a corner.

“Oh my god,” said a breathless voice at Mike’s shoulder. “You met him. And he spoke to you.”

He turned to find his friend Lisa, the one who had helped him get the job, staring in the direction where the H-A-F jerk had gone, with both worship and horror writ plainly on her face. “Met? That’s debatable. And can I just say – _ho-lee shit._ Are they all like that?”

“More or less. The degree of assholianism varies, but they definitely all have it. I think it’s a required class at Harvard. That was Harvey Specter, by the way. Asshole of assholes and top of the food chain. Well, except for Jessica Pearson, of course, who isn’t an asshole, so much as an ageless, morally ambiguous devourer of souls.” A cheerful smile lit her pretty face. “Come on, Carla’s waiting for you.”

 

A brief department meeting of the billing staff was the first order of the day. Carla, Lisa, and three other women scrutinized Mike while they all sat in a loose circle in the middle of a jumble of desks and dividers and metal filing cabinets.

“This is Mike Ross,” said Carla, by way of introduction. She was a thin, dour-faced woman, probably in her forties, with a mouse-brown mullet and an outfit straight out of the Sister Wives catalog. “Mike is Gayle’s replacement. I’ve taken all of your requests and suggestions into account, and I don’t want to hear any complaining – at least not until you’ve given it a fair chance. Without further ado, here is the new list of billing assignments.”

She passed out a two page stapled document to each of the billing specialists. In response, the women made varying noises of satisfaction or disappointment. Mike had no basis yet to judge the desirable versus the undesirable attorneys, but he did notice that he’d been assigned Harvey Specter. Since he assumed he was getting stuck with everyone else’s rejects, this did not bode well for his new job.

Mike looked up from the list as Carla addressed him directly. “Lisa will get you set up at your desk and deliver you to HR for orientation. Be prepared to fill out more forms than you ever knew existed. This afternoon, you’re with me in my office. We’ll go over all the grammar, punctuation and spelling guidelines, I’ll introduce you to the time and billing system, and then we'll see what you can do.”

 

By the end of the day, Mike had begun to question his decision to go straight. While dealing for Trevor the last two years, the money had been phenomenal, the hours minimal, and he’d had plenty of free time to both visit Grammy and happily party his ass off. Grammy was gone, though, and during their last visit four months ago, she had urged him to find a better path for his life.

Lisa had been a loyal customer on his route, and over time they had become friends as well. When he confessed his intention to stop delivering drugs for Trevor, she’d told him about the opening in the Pearson Specter billing department.

“All you need is great grammar, the ability to spell above a text message level, attention to detail, and skill with numbers.”

He knew he had all of that, but what he didn’t have was experience. He couldn’t exactly include “pot dealer” on his resume, and how was he supposed to explain the past two years to a prospective employer? Lisa went far out on a limb for him, singing his praises to Carla. Trevor, who was sorry to see him go, but understanding of his need, provided him with a fake reference. Mike disliked starting out his new life with a lie, and he swore to himself that this would be the last one.

Compared to bicycling around the city making his deliveries and meeting new people, sitting at a desk in a cramped, windowless room, proofreading attorney and paralegal time entries while complying with all of the rules set out by Carla was dull – mind-numbingly, soul-shrinkingly dull. Carla had given him a whole laundry list, in the form of an eight page reference sheet, of all the firm’s guidelines for grammar and spelling. She’d spent a shocking amount of time expounding on the hyphenated versus the non-hyphenated spelling of the word e-mail. Or email. He still wasn’t entirely clear.

“There are different schools of thought,” she explained. “Myself? I’m pro-hyphen. After all, the ‘e’ replaces the word ‘electronic,’ and you wouldn’t compound electronic and mail into one word, would you? Well, _would you?_ ”

Mike rushed to assure her that he would not. Never. No way. No how.

“The tragedy,” Carla continued, “is that nearly half the attorneys in this firm have come down as firmly anti-hyphen. This was the one issue upon which the billing guidelines committee could not reach a consensus. In the end, it was left up to the individual billing attorney. It might seem confusing at first, but the girls should be able to fill you in on the preferences of your assigned attorneys.”

“Oh. That’s…reassuring?”

 

By five o’clock, Mike felt as if his eyes were on the verge of turning to sand and trickling out of their sockets, along with what was left of his brain. He was pretty sure that even smoking pot hadn't killed as many brain cells as one day of editing attorney bills had.

“Time to head out.”

He looked up to find Lisa standing in front of his desk with her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder.

“Gee, already?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“No overtime allowed unless Carla pre-approves it.”

“No argument here. What should I do with all of… _this?_ ” With a sweep of his arm he indicated the piles of green paper blanketing his desk. Green, he’d learned today, was the color of draft bills, which the attorneys edited and returned. He suspected that by the end of the week he would be suffering from nightmares about being smothered in reams of green paper.

“Just leave it,” Lisa said. “It will all still be there in the morning.”

“Want to stop for a beer or something?” Mike asked her while he shut down his computer and retrieved his jacket and messenger bag from a hook by the door.

They walked together toward the elevator, the last two people to leave the department.

“Can’t,” she replied, grinning. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

The elevator arrived, and Mike groaned. “Shit. I forgot my helmet. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Try to be on time,” she laughed, and disappeared behind the closing doors.

It took only a moment to trot back to the billing department, grab his helmet from under his desk, and return to the lobby. While he waited for another elevator to show up, he caught a glimpse of Harvey Specter striding past, looking as if he was on his way to an important meeting. He glanced up briefly from his phone. For a second, Mike imagined that the other man had snapped a photo of him, but decided he must have imagined it. If he recognized Mike from that morning, or even registered his existence, Mike couldn't have said.

 

The second day passed quickly. Mike gained confidence with the billing system, and he made it through a good-sized stack of draft bills. In some cases, there were no corrections to be made and he could print final bills to be returned to the billing attorney, or mail them out himself, with or without a cover letter provided by the attorney.

He spent the afternoon working on the enormous stack of Louis Litt's draft bills. Most of Litt’s time entries consisted of long, rambling narratives, which made it slow going. A scrawly red pen had supplied even more verbiage for Mike to add.

"Hey Lisa," he said, interrupting her foray onto Facebook to update her status. "Litt. Is he pro or anti hyphen?"

"Um. I dunno. He was Heidi's last. Ask her."

Heidi, Mike had already deduced, did not care for him. Whether it was because she didn't like men in general, or that she had picked up on the fact that he was gay and had issues with that, or she simply carried a generic grudge against anybody new in the department, he hadn't yet figured out. He got up and walked to her desk, sidling up to her cautiously.

"Hey, Heidi," he began, attempting to infuse his voice with a warmth he didn't feel, "does Louis Litt prefer hyphens? Or not?" Somewhere deep inside his rational brain he was laughing hysterically about the fact that he was even forced to ask such a thing.

Heidi barely glanced his way. He couldn’t see her computer screen, but she was typing away so frenetically that he suspected she was not engaged in actual work. Lisa had hinted that Heidi ran a blog dedicated to some movie star or another, and updated it constantly.

"Litt? Er, he hates them," Heidi finally allowed. "If he spots a single hyphenated e-mail on his final bills, you'll wind up on his shit list, and there you will remain, probably until the end of time."

"Ah. Okay. Got it. Thanks."

Armed with that information, Mike returned to his desk and powered his way through Litt's bills, reducing every one of hundreds of e-mails to emails. At five o'clock, he left with a clear desk, and a growing belief that yes, he could actually do this.

 

Halfway through the following morning, an enraged attorney barreled its way into the department and scanned the room, murder glinting in its eyes.

"Which one of you is Mike Ross?" it hissed dangerously, even though Mike was clearly the only male in the room.

Mike looked around, hoping to find some clue as to how to avoid the man's wrath, but everywhere he looked, he found all eyes studiously lowered. He slowly raised one hand. "Here."

The man stalked his way. He held a huge stack of final bills. When he moved close enough, Mike recognized the bills as the one's he'd completed yesterday for....

"Louis Litt?" he surmised.

"I don't know you. Who are you?" Louis stepped back and pointed at Mike, not looking at him. "Who is this? Where did he come from?"

Not wanting to cause a scene that would pull Carla out of her office, Mike surged to his feet and then immediately crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm new. My name is Mike, which you already know, and those are your bills."

Litt's gaze found Mike once more, and its intensity suggested that he suspected Mike of doing something as dastardly as throwing kittens in a wood chipper or.... _crap._ Mike turned his head slowly and found Heidi hunched over her desk, biting her lower lip as she convulsed in silent laughter.

"It was the hyphens, wasn't it?" Mike guessed.

Litt narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to one side. "Did Harvey put you up to it?"

"What? No. It was a mistake. Rookie mistake. I can get those fixed for you real quick."

Mike reached for the bills, but Litt snatched them away, his expression one of horror.

"You expect to get another chance? Mike, as I'm sure you noticed, I have the highest billables in the firm. _In. The. Firm._ My bills were immaculate and you butchered them. You're a butcher. A bill butcherer. A...whatever. I should take these straight to your supervisor."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw the door to Carla's office swing quietly closed.

"That's not necessary, Mr. Litt. If you like, I can let her know myself that you'd prefer a different biller." He didn't dare make eye contact with any of his co-workers. He reached for the bills again, and actually got his hands on them, but Litt pulled back, until they were engaged in a brief little tug of war. Litt won, and hugged the bills to his chest.

"'Oh mill,'" Litt wailed, making Mike jump in alarm, "'what hast thou ground?' Why must I be forced to suffer these slings and arrows of...of...."

"Outrageous fortune?" Mike ventured, voice tentative.

"Yes! Precisely." He seemed to examine Mike more closely. "You know The Bard?"

"Sure. Uh, ‘He who steals my purse steals trash’?"

"Exactly." He gave Mike a wide, half-crazed grin. "Oh my god. You get me." He recited, without taking a breath, '"But he that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed.' And that's what you tried to do Mike. You tried to filch my good name by robbing my bills of their rightful hyphens."

Mike nodded, as if any of that had made sense. "I see that now," he said solemnly. "I was wrong, and I'd like the chance to make things right."

"Yes," Litt said, "I think I believe you." He thrust the bills into Mike's arms, causing him to stagger back a little. "Welcome to the firm, Michael Ross. Go forth and hyphenate." With that, he whirled around and swept out of the department.

Mike finally let a disbelieving laugh escape him. "What in the hell was that?"

Lisa had started giggling, and was joined by the three other women. "Oh shit, Mike," she said breathlessly, "you have just been Litt Up."

"No way." He dropped the bills on his desk and gave them a hostile glare. "He's got his own catch phrase?"

Kendra guffawed. "He got his own damn mugs. Now that you’re back on his good side, you’ll probably get one as an apology gift."

"Wow. Did any of you ever...."

All four of them pulled open a desk drawer and help up their "Litt Up" mugs to show Mike.

"Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, every one of you," he muttered, and then set about the tedious task of restoring Litt's bills to their former hyphenated glory. With the remaining 99.9% of his brain still available, he plotted the hellfire he would rain down upon Heidi one day soon.

 

September came to an end, and Mike somehow managed to get his final bills printed and out the door. The beginning of the next month fell on a Friday. Because nothing else could be accomplished while the time and billing system compiled the month-end information, the process couldn’t begin until after hours. Ruthie normally stayed late to run the draft bills and pile them up on the other biller’s desks for distribution. On this Friday, Ruthie’s high school age daughter had a significant part in her school play, and Ruthie wanted to be there for the premiere. She begged and pleaded and wheedled and finally, when everyone else had turned her down flat, Mike gave in, because he could actually use the overtime, and he didn’t have any plans for the night besides pizza, beer and Netflix.

As it turned out, it was actually kind of pleasant and peaceful in the department after five o’clock. He wished he’d brought a book to read, but in between moving stacks of green paper from the printer to his co-worker’s desks and refilling the copier, he managed to amuse himself by going online and reading the news, checking his bank balance, researching how to set a non-harmful explosive charge in a desk drawer, and browsing the PC Gamer website.

The janitor came and went, the hall outside the department went dark, and just after nine o’clock the final run of bills began sifting onto the paper tray. Mike yawned and stretched, leaned back with his feet on his desk, and then whipped his head around when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. His feet thudded to the carpet.

Standing just inside the glass doors was Harvey Specter, looking every bit as handsome and arrogant as Mike remembered.

“Shit,” Mike said, and immediately wondered if he was even allowed to swear in front of a partner. “You nearly gave me a stroke, dude.”

Harvey favored him with a half smirk in response. “Sorry, _dude._ ”

Irritated at the mockery, Mike stood and moved to the side of his desk to face the other man, leaning against the edge with his arms crossed over his chest. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Specter? I’ve got your draft bills ready to go if….”

A look of exaggerated distaste contorted the lawyer’s features. “God, no. Give them to Donna on Monday.” At Mike’s blank stare, he elaborated, “My assistant. Donna. And please call me Harvey.”

“Oh-kay….” If he didn’t want his bills, Mike couldn’t fathom what he was doing showing his face inside the billing department. “So….” He spread his hands to his sides, shaking his head slowly, hoping to convey his puzzlement.

Instead of answering the implied question, Harvey strolled further into the room and took a seat in Mike’s chair, blatantly scrutinizing his computer monitor. “PC Gamer,huh? Benjamin’s going to love you.”

“Benjamin?” Feeling off balance, Mike grabbed Lisa’s chair, rolled it over in front of his desk, and sat, bringing them back to the same level.

“Really? He's the head of IT. How long have you been here?”

“Three w – ”

“Rhetorical question. What I’d really like the answer to is how a well-known drug dealer like yourself managed to wrangle a job at my law firm.”

Mike went cold and stopped breathing for a second. He knew in his bones that he was about to be fired, but he still couldn’t prevent the defensive explanation that sprang to his lips. “Well-known?” he scoffed. “That’s not accurate. I’ve been out of the business for a couple of months, and I’m not going back.”

“But you lied on your resume and application?”

Mike shrugged. If he was out the door tonight anyway, he couldn’t see the harm in being honest. He leaned back in the chair and placed his interlaced hands on top of his head. “Wanting to go straight and actually doing it turned out to be a…quandary. I had dozens of doors slammed in my face because I couldn’t provide any professional references. I heard about this job, the pay and benefits are decent, and I knew I could do it with one eye closed and both hands tied behind my back, so…yeah. I lied my ass off.”

Harvey stared at him for half a minute without speaking, and then seemed to shake himself. “Sorry. I got hung up on the image of you with your hands tied behind your back. Compelling stuff.”

So…flirting? Maybe there was hope for his job after all. Mike searched frantically for something flirtatious and cheeky and slightly off-color to lob back, but before he could assemble the perfect response, Harvey spoke again.

“Do you like poker?”

The question came out of left field and halted Mike’s thoughts right in their tracks. “Do I… _poker_?”

“It’s a yes or no question. Let me guess, though. You're good at the numbers and figuring the odds, but your bluffing sucks big time.”

Mike felt himself reddening, completely confirming Harvey’s guess. “Well, yes. That’s about right. And I’m not overly fond of the game, since it’s partly to blame for my expulsion from Columbia.”

“Expelled, huh? I did wonder. I guess that explains why someone who had a perfect score on their SAT’s fell into crime like you did. You know, I think I read somewhere that pot is a gateway drug to low level accounting work.”

Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. Who was this guy? Then it clicked, what Harvey had just said. “Hey. How did you know about my SAT scores? Did you have me checked out?”

“Considering what I’m going to propose to you tonight, it seemed like a good idea.”

Mike’s pulse picked up at what he imagined Harvey meant by that. Later, he would laugh himself silly at how wrong he had gotten it. In that moment, he smiled slowly and lowered his voice to a sexier register to ask, “Just what did you have in mind?”

The smile Harvey directed at him was both enigmatic and decidedly wicked. “If you really want to find out, finish up whatever you’re working on and meet me in my office. Get there before ten or I’ll be forced to fire you.”

“Hold up, that’s – ” He’d been about to say that it was sexual harassment, but Harvey interrupted him.

“That’s what happens to people with phony references. If you get to my office before ten, you’ll find out exactly what is required of you to avoid termination. If you're not interested, or at least curious, pack your shit and get out.”

He stood up and left, not looking behind him. Mike looked plenty. He stared a hole in the door through which Harvey had disappeared, alarmed and anxious and…oh yeah. How about that? He was half-hard at what he felt certain that Harvey was going to offer.

 

Harvey sat relaxed on his couch, sipping scotch, when Mike stepped into his office at five minutes until ten.

“Look who made it,” Harvey drawled. He eyed Mike up and down. “I notice that you ignored my advice about your wardrobe.”

Mike tugged at his collar self-consciously. “Did you ask me in here just to critique my fashion choices?”

“You’re telling me that’s a deliberate choice?”

“Mr. – ”

“Ah ah.”

“Fine. _Harvey_. First of all, as I’m sure you’re aware, my salary doesn’t exactly cover designer labels. What I’m wearing is completely billing department appropriate. And secondly, if this…if you….” He’d intended to ask flat out if Harvey planned on leveraging sexual favors from him, but lost his nerve in the presence of the other man’s knowing smirk.

“I can guess what you’re thinking, kid,” he said, and Mike believed him. “However, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” Still holding his glass of scotch, he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and led the way to the elevators.

Mike thought rapidly, striving to figure out what Harvey had in mind, and what he’d meant by “complicated.” When Harvey pushed the “up” button, Mike was even more confused. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Harvey touched his back – making him _shiver_ , god damn it – and ushered him into the empty car.

“Mike, you are about to be let in on a well-guarded secret. I'm counting on you not to abuse this privilege. I hope I'm not making a mistake. Louis certainly thinks I am.”

“Wait. Did you say Louis, as in Louis Litt?”

“Don’t interrupt.” He pressed the button for the fifty-second floor. “If you agree to participate, there’s a non-disclosure agreement all made up, ready for your signature. If you don’t agree, like I said earlier, you’re gone tonight. Should you later attempt to divulge our little secret, I can assure you that you’ll only end up looking like a fool. Plus, there would be other consequences you would not like. Questions so far?”

_Only a million of them_ , Mike thought, but shook his head and did his best to digest what he’d just learned.   So far, it sounded hinky as hell, but he needed the job. When the elevator let them out on fifty-two, Mike looked around, even more perplexed. All he could see was a long hallway lined with closed doors. He followed Harvey down the hall and around a corner, stopping at a door labeled only with the number “5208.” Using a key he pulled from his pocket, Harvey unlocked the door and they went inside. The door clicked shut behind them.

A split second of disconcerting darkness gave way to bright light as the overhead fluorescent lighting came on automatically, illuminating a large space filled with rows of ceiling-high metal racks holding neatly labeled banker boxes. Harvey took off down one of the long, narrow rows, and after only a brief hesitation, Mike followed him, wondering if Harvey’s back, surrounded by dusty shelves, was the last view Mike would have before being murdered and ground up into the attorney equivalent of soylent green.

Nerve-wracking seconds followed with only the sound of their shoes scuffing against the cheap carpeting, and an occasional faint creaking, as if some years-old set of legal documents was shifting and settling. Finally, they reached the blank wall at the end of the row. Harvey took an immediate sharp left and walked past three more seemingly identical rows. He stopped moving so abruptly that Mike nearly plowed right into him. He peered around the older man to see that they had come to another wall, in which was set a metal door with no handle, and no lock that Mike could see. He was proved wrong when Harvey produced a key card and swiped it through a slot on the wall. The door slid open with a dramatic hiss, as if they were entering a pressurized space.

“Don’t freak out,” Harvey advised him, sounding amused. “Benjamin added that sound effect because, well, because he’s a little….”

“I’m a little what, Harvey?”

Mike jumped, startled, as he realized that they were no longer alone. The door slid closed behind him, this time emitting a sound he guessed was supposed to emulate a rapid burst of laser fire.

“That’s new,” observed Harvey.

“Paul complained about the demonic laughter,” said a small, dark-haired man -- presumably Benjamin -- seated at a round wooden table, along with (Mike did a rapid headcount) six other people.

Including Harvey, there were seven men and one woman, all staring back at Mike with interest – disconcertingly avid interest. A deck of cards sat in front of Louis Litt, and Mike remembered now that Harvey had mentioned something about poker earlier.

In stark contrast to the file room through which they had just passed, this space appeared well-maintained, luxurious even. A maple plank floor gleamed like honey underneath several richly decorated throw rugs. Wrought iron sconces spaced along the walls let out soft, low-wattage light. The primary light source for the poker table was an elegant stained glass chandelier which looked suspiciously like Tiffany. Eight decadently plush black leather chairs ringed the table, seven of them occupied at the moment.

Soft jazz played from invisible speakers. A corner at the back of the room held what looked like a kitchenette, complete with refrigerator, stove and microwave oven. In the opposite back corner, a small raised dais supported an ornate, upholstered armchair. Mike did the math in his head. Eight chairs at the table, plus one extra in the corner. Eight players, plus…him? _Hinky, hinky, hinky_ , his mind chanted, but before he could articulate his concerns, Harvey spoke again.

“Don’t jump to too many conclusions, kid. First things first: introductions. I believe you’ve met Louis. And that is Benjamin.” He moved to the table, and as he introduced the remaining players, he walked Mike around the table, laying a hand on a shoulder here, and a chair back there.

“Vanessa Fletcher.”

A beautiful dark haired woman in a black tank top, mini skirt, and with legs up to her armpits, winked at Mike. “Actually, it’s Vanessa Wolfe this week.”

“My apologies,” Harvey said, with an amused eye roll. “I didn’t get the memo. Vanessa Wolfe, then, who prefers an alias.” He moved to stand behind the next chair. “Paul Porter, which is his real name, and which you may or may not recognize. Paul is a senior partner at the firm.”

Porter was a white-haired, bearded man in a tweed jacket, vest and bow tie, who looked as if he could be a college professor. He grunted, gave Mike a doubtful once-over, and sipped from a brandy snifter.

“Next, because every group needs its own resident a-hole, here is ours: Cameron Dennis.”

Mike kept his surprise to himself. He had heard the name, of course. Dennis was a former district attorney who had been forced to resign due to some scandal that Mike had never cared enough to pay attention to. It was on the tip of his tongue to comment that he thought Harvey was the resident a-hole, but managed to keep his stupid, blabbering mouth shut for once.

“Hello, Mike,” Cameron said with a smarmy grin. “Don’t pay any attention to Harvey. He’s still sulking because he couldn’t get me kicked out of the game two years ago. He’ll tell you it was because of our rocky personal history, but the truth is he hates losing to me, whether it’s in court or at cards.”

The only sign Harvey gave of his annoyance was a tightening in his jaw which Mike noticed because he was standing right beside him. “Keep it up,” Harvey purred, “and I’ll call for another vote. Are you so sure you’ll squeak through a second time?”

“Harvey,” Louis interrupted him, “enough already. You detest one another. We get it. Let’s move this along. It’s been a long week, and I’m ready to dominate you all.”

Half the table groaned at that.

“What? I’m feeling it tonight. It’s a kind of…mmm…and uh…and ahh….” He half-danced, half-shadowboxed in his chair and made weird little grunting noises, the entire performance filling Mike with alarm. “The mojo is strong tonight. I feel my mojo rising. Uh. Uh.”

“Jesus, Louis,” said an attractive blond man who had yet to be introduced, “keep your mojo under control or I’m leaving right now.” He turned his gaze to Mike and gave him a blinding smile. “Hi, Mike. I’m Tom Keller. I sure hope you decide to stick around, because your math scores are sexy as hell.”

“Um. My what, now?”

Harvey didn’t give Tom a chance to respond. They’d made it all the way around the table, and stood next to the final player. “This is the newest member of our group and our first legacy, Logan Sanders.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sanders said. He gave Mike a slow, filthy smile, accompanied with aggressive elevator eyes, and extended his hand for Mike to shake.

Mike knew he was staring, and maybe his mouth was open a little, because dark-haired, tall drink of water Logan Sanders was a prime specimen of manhood indeed. He placed his hand in Logan’s and gave it a shake, but felt nothing aside from the dampness of perspiration. Shame. “Nice to meet you too,” he remembered to say.

Harvey took the empty chair next to Logan’s, leaving Mike standing awkwardly on his own.

“All right, Mike,” Harvey began, “it’s pretty simple, really. This group convenes here at ten o'clock on the first Friday of every month. We play poker – dealer’s choice – for the next four hours. We play for money, but to make things more interesting, the overall winner of the night also takes home the jackpot.”

Mike glanced around the table, but found no clues forthcoming, so he asked, “Jackpot?”

“Haven’t you guessed yet? That would be you.”

Mike opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I love this part,” he heard Louis whisper. “The shock and disbelief and confusion. It’s adorable.”

“Well, I think it’s just cruel,” said Vanessa. “So, just as I’m always forced to do, I’ll be the one to explain. Yes, Mike. You are the jackpot of the night, but we all have our own specific plans for you. In the spirit of full disclosure, we’ll now go around the table and – ”

“ _Briefly,”_ insisted Louis.

“Fine,” she said between clenched teeth. “We’ll go around the table and _briefly_ tell you what will be expected of you if we win. I’ll start. As it happens, I’m a private investigator, and you will be assisting me in my work, sometimes as backup and sometimes going undercover yourself. How does that sound?”

“Er, wow. That sounds….” To his surprise, it actually sounded like fun. “I mean, sure. I could do that.” His eyes widened as something occurred to him. “Are you the one that did my background check?”

She smiled sweetly back at him. “Don’t let it bother you too much. I’ve seen much worse. But let’s keep this moving. Benjamin?”

The small man had been busy on his phone during the preceding conversation. Now he looked up, as alert and high-strung as a terrier. “You like gaming, Michael. No, don’t ask me how I know. Really, though, _Diablo 3_? You can do better. I’ll introduce you to worlds you never dreamed of. Don’t expect much sleep, if I win you. We’ll be going pretty much non-stop, all weekend.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Mike said, “that would be non-stop….”

“Gaming, Michael. Keep up. I’m going to open your eyes. Action, adventure, stealth, RPG, FPS, trivia, racing, simulations, and -- OMG, Michael -- MMOG’s. I mean, I’ve got my own team put together, but Harold is a bit of a weak link. If you pan out, I could slot you in – ”

“I think Mike gets it,” interrupted Harvey. “Is that enough to go on, kid?”

“Yeah. Sure. Absolutely.” Mike was beginning to suspect he’d fallen straight down the rabbit hole.

“Good. Let’s hear from Louis next.”

“Otherwise known as the deal breaker,” Benjamin muttered darkly.

“I heard that,” Louis said, “and I take exception. If – no, _when_ – I win you, Mike, we’re going to do… _things._ ”

Without realizing what he was doing, Mike took a step back from the table. “Things?”

“Spa days. Mudding. Racquetball. Brunch. And I get tickets to all the hottest shows. Operas, plays – Shakespeare, Mike! – the symphony and ballet. When I win, I'm going to make you my own little fairy princess.”

“Uh, no. Prince, maybe, and I think…I mean, wouldn’t that make you the fairy…godfather?” He heard Harvey trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. “But, yeah, I could handle all of that." He'd ask later what, exactly, Louis meant by "mudding." "So far it all sounds doable. What else, though?”

Tom raised his hand. “I want you for your brain. I run a fantasy football website, and although there are computers and algorithms to crunch the numbers and statistics, I could really use a human touch to smooth out the rough edges. I have other not quite legal entertainments in mind, but I wouldn’t want to incriminate myself. We can discuss that later, if I actually win, which I have yet to do.”

Weird, but, “Fair enough,” he allowed. “Paul? I mean, Mr. Porter?”

“Eh, first names are fine. I want you for my wife.”

And there was the other shoe right there, clonking Mike on the head like an anvil. “I might have to object to that. I mean, no offense, but the age difference alone – not that it would automatically rule things out – but I’m not sure I could see my way – ”

Paul scowled. "No, you ninny, I don't want you to _be_ my wife."

“ _Ohthankgod_.”

“I’ll ignore the unflattering nature of your relief, because really, you should be so lucky. No, I’m referring to winning you _for_ my wife, Bianca.”

“You want me to….?”

“Entertain her. Precisely.”

And there was the other, _other_ shoe, shooting in from the side to bap him in the ear. “I don’t think…and truly, no offense…but I don’t…I’m not…I’m just wired that way.”

"You're gay.

"Exactly."

“No worries,” Benjamin interjected. “His wife’s got a strap-on.”

Mike gave a nervous laugh, but when no one else joined in, he realized that Benjamin was serious.

“You could do worse,” said Paul. “But actual sex is something you two will have to negotiate between yourselves. I can’t promise she’ll be gentle, but I guarantee she’ll be grateful. If you choose to keep it platonic, you'll have to find other ways to keep her occupied. I'm sure she'd find one of your seedy little gay clubs amusing. She adores karaoke. Anything to keep her happy while I spend time with my mistress.”

“He almost never wins,” Vanessa stage-whispered.

"Moving along," said Harvey, "let's hear next from Satan...I mean Cameron. What plans do you have to corrupt this innocent soul?"

Cameron directed a perfectly executed bitch face at Harvey. "First of all, that never gets old – oh wait, yes it does. Secondly, the boy's not so innocent, according to your own report."

That comment set alarm bells clanging inside Mike's head, and he gave Harvey an accusing look. "You ratted me out to the former DA?"

"Calm down. It was my turn to recruit our game's next jackpot, which means filling the group in on both your attributes and your flaws. Consequently, everyone at this table knows more about you than you possibly know yourself. And just like you will be, they are all bound by a strict non-disclosure agreement. Don't feel too bad. We've had our fair share of felons, petty criminals and overall train wrecks come through here over the years. By comparison, your flaws are relatively pedestrian. Your attributes, however...."

Harvey paused to give Mike a slow perusal, with an expression on his face which could only be termed lascivious. "...are exceptional," he finished, making Mike's knees go weak. He didn't elaborate, and didn't give Mike a chance to ask what he meant, as he turned back to Cameron. "So, lord of the realms of darkness, what nefarious designs to you have on young Mike?"

Pointedly ignoring Harvey, Cameron spoke directly to Mike. "Since I'm semi-retired -- "

"I wish," muttered Harvey.

"Ignore him. Like I said, poor loser. As I was saying, I'm semi-retired, and only doing a little consulting on the side."

"If by consulting you mean stirring up shit every other week."

"Harvey, fuck you -- "

"You guys," whined Louis, "you're strangling my mojo. Mojo delayed is mojo lost, and I can feel my mojo going flaccid."

"Ew," Tom got in.

Looking seriously put out now, Cameron groused, "If Harvey would let me finish....Got any more clever jabs? No? Awesome. Mike, I've taken up some hobbies in my newly freed up time, all designed to explore new avenues of self-expression. You'll assist and participate." He held up one hand, as if to ward off a question that hadn't been asked. "That's all I'm saying in front of these people."

Mike's eyebrows scrunched down in confusion. "That's kind of vague."

Cameron crossed his arms and shrugged.

Deciding to be blunt, Mike told him, "Just so you know, I'm not interested in having sex with you."

"Right back at you."

"Oh." He fidgeted, not sure what to say to that.

"We good?" asked Harvey.

"I guess so."

"And that," concluded Harvey, "leaves us with Logan."

Logan gave Mike a look that was equal parts smoldering sex god, obnoxious frat boy, and hard-nosed negotiator. "Unlike the rest of these weirdoes," he began, ignoring the sounds of protest that erupted around the table, "I want you in my bed."

“Ah. Um. Wow.” Mike gave Logan a shy smile, preening a little. “While that’s flattering – ”

“Hey,” said Cameron, “I’m pretty sure I should be insulted here.”

“ – I don’t know if I could agree to that. I think I’d have to get to know you a little first.”

“You want to be wooed?” Logan asked. “Seduced?” He shrugged, as if it made no difference to him one way or another. “Sure. I can do that.”

They all seemed to be waiting for Mike’s response. He honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about Logan’s…request?...demand? If he’d laid eyes on Logan in a club or a bar, he would have been all over that in a heartbeat. The overtones of coercion here, though, felt…strange. He was in the midst of trying to work out if those overtones were strange/bad or strange/good, when Harvey interrupted his thoughts.

“You’ve heard from everyone now. Time to make a decision. Are you in or are you out?”

Mike stared at Harvey in confusion. "Everyone? Um, no. You haven't said what you'd want me for." _What you would use me for,_ he brain interpreted for him, and he ordered his brain to get a grip.

Harvey's smile was drenched in mischief. His eyes actually twinkled back at Mike, which was a pretty neat trick. "Didn't I mention that part? You can just consider me the wild card here. As the... _procurer_ of the new jackpot, I'm exempt from the need to divulge my plans for you."

The way he lingered over the word "procurer" made it sound so dirty that Mike shivered at the implications. Ignoring the sudden, vivid images that flashed through his mind, he countered, "That hardly seems fair."

"You don't think so? Look, we're all gamblers here, kid. The eight of us at this table are gambling our money. It seems more than fair that you ante up as well, if not with cold hard cash, then with something less tangible, like your uncertainty and anxiety about how you'll be spending the weekend, and much of the rest of the month."

_Jesus_. So many shoes were dropping, Mike felt like he needed an industrial strength umbrella to avoid a concussion. "Wait a second. You never said anything about the rest of the month."

"Didn't I? Huh. Well, the weekend following the game is non-negotiable. You're the winner's property until Monday morning, unless they decide to release you sooner. If they want to continue on during the month, you should do your best to make yourself available."

That right there made Mike nervous. How much of his time was this craziness going to eat up? He still needed the job, though, and so far nothing any of them had cooked up for him sounded completely odious. But then there was Harvey to consider. What did he have in mind? He'd dropped several hints already that he might have designs on Mike similar to Logan's.

Bottom line? More than even Logan, Mike was attracted to Harvey. In a cerebral, objective way he could list all of Harvey's outward qualities that added up to Hot-as-Fuck -- the arithmetic on that hadn't changed since day one. But it wasn't just that. There existed something almost... _chemical..._ that burned between them. Or was he just imagining it? Maybe Harvey turned that sizzle on everyone, with or without intending to.

He'd been quiet for too long, he realized. In truth, he'd already decided what his answer would be, and was only stalling at this point. He sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and announced, "I guess I'm in. Shuffle up and deal."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the encouraging comments and kudos for Ch. 1. I intended to post another long chapter this week, but then I went and got sick, so this is as far as I got. Maybe next week I'll do better.

As a spectator sport, it turned out that poker sucked nearly as hard as golf. If it hadn't been his own ass on the line (perhaps literally), Mike might not have bothered to pay any attention to the game at all. Harvey confiscated his phone, though, and hid it away with everyone else's, so he was kind of lacking in alternative ways to entertain himself.

He occupied himself for the first half hour reading through the non-disclosure agreement with which Harvey had presented him. He settled into the chair in the corner of the room -- an insanely comfortable recliner -- and as he flipped through page after page he found himself marveling at the dense layers of obfuscating language used to render the simplest points nearly unintelligible. He shouldn't have been surprised to discover a few... _nuances_ that hadn't been clearly laid out by Harvey and his fellow gamblers during their sales pitch.

He saw now that he'd been roped in for a minimum of eight games, presumably to give each player a chance at him. Extensions beyond the original term were at the discretion of both himself and a majority of the players. However, if Mike lasted out the first eight months, his job at Pearson Specter would no longer be held hostage.

In addition, as Harvey had hinted earlier, Mike was required to answer any and all summonses by the winner throughout the entire month. A few exceptions had been delineated, including illness, injury, coma and death. He wondered bleakly how badly he would need to injure himself to get a night off.

On the plus side, his participation granted him what amounted to blanket immunity from most of the usual causes for termination of employment. As far as he could tell, he was free to arrive late, disappear for three hour lunches, start a Twitter feud during working hours, fornicate in the copy room, tell his boss to shove it, sneak a beer on his break, and pretty much anything else besides engaging in sexual harassment (which was some delicious irony right there) or committing errors which cost the firm a sizeable sum of money. Oh, and drugs. The agreement specified that illegal drugs of any kind were forbidden to him. Neither could he remain in contact with former friends and associates from his pot dealing days.

This meant that he and Trevor were effectively finished, at least for the foreseeable future. Since they'd already agreed to keep their distance, this wasn't too concerning, although it did cause an almost instinctual flare of resistance and resentment at having his personal life controlled in this way. He also wondered how the no drug rule would play out if Tom won him. His "other not quite legal entertainments" had sounded like a not so thinly veiled euphemism for smoking up with Mike. He supposed he'd have to figure that out if the situation ever arose.

Really, though, the prohibitions were far outweighed by the months-long get out of jail free card he'd been handed. Not that he intended to abuse his newfound privilege. Much.

In the end, he gave a fatalistic shrug and signed the document.

 

With the formalities out of the way, Mike finally had a chance to check out the game in progress.   It looked like they were currently playing five card draw, as each held five in their hand, and there were no cards showing on the table. Benjamin had donned a pair of round, silver mirrored sunglasses that made him look a bit like a hipster housefly. Louis Litt's temples shone with perspiration as he ordered and reordered his cards.   The rest of the players appeared reasonably relaxed, and the betting and raising and verbal sparring went on apace until everyone had folded except Logan and Paul.

After some rapid back and forth, raising and re-raising, Paul called, and they showed their cards, with Logan winning a substantial pot. He raked in all of the chips, arranged them by piles into their various denominations and flashed Mike a smile. Mouth suddenly dry, Mike attempted to retain a poker face, but suspected he’d failed miserably.

As Paul began his turn as dealer, shuffling the deck in quick, violently efficient bursts, Mike stood and  walker closer, trying to work out who was currently ahead. Going on guesswork as to how much each chip represented, Mike estimated that every player had started with one thousand dollars’ worth of chips. He couldn't imagine potentially throwing away that much money on a monthly basis. Although he might have afforded it when he'd been dealing pot, he had always found more enjoyable ways to spend his money. He could only assume that everyone at the table could well afford to gamble that much.

After Logan's last win, he looked to be the front runner thus far. They had three hours to go, however, and there were some seriously intent faces arrayed around the table. A weird feeling lodged in Mike’s chest at the realization that they were all competing so fiercely for the chance to win _him_. Eight strangers, most of whom hadn’t even met him until less than an hour ago. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that, but there it was.

“Seven card stud this time around,” Paul intoned glumly.

Standing behind Vanessa, Mike could observe almost everyone’s faces as they tossed chips into the pot and placed their bets, each deep in concentration. Against his will, Mike’s eyes gravitated to Harvey. Unlike the rest of the players, who mostly remained focused on the cards on the table in front of them, Harvey’s gaze was in constant movement, traveling around the table, studying the faces of the other players.

As Mike watched Harvey watch everyone else, the attorney’s gaze flickered to him, rested there for a full beat, and then moved away again. An electric shiver ran through Mike. He forced himself to breathe through it while telling himself that a look from Harvey hadn’t affected him like that, not at all.

A complicated round of betting began, interspersed with more dealt cards. Since Mike didn’t fully understand the rules of seven card stud, it was more difficult to follow. His stomach rumbled and he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Still trying to quell his earlier flutter of Harvey-induced nerves, he wandered over to the kitchenette.

The contract he’d just signed had been amusingly specific, allowing him a maximum of two beers per night, and full access to whatever food he was available. He had no clue who stocked the refrigerator and cupboards, but he found them stuffed full of every kind of snack food he could think of, as well as enough sandwich fixings to make a deli proud. He threw some pizza rolls and taquitos into the microwave and set about assembling a ham and cheese sandwich on honey wheat, and a pastrami and Swiss on dark rye. As the microwave dinged, he was licking brown mustard from his thumb.

“Did you forget to eat this week?” asked as amused voice behind him.

Surprised, he turned to find Harvey replenishing his Scotch and filling a cut crystal bowl with pretzels.

“Nope,” said Mike, plating his pizza rolls and taquitos and sandwiches, and grabbing a bottle of Brooklyn Brown Ale out of the refrigerator. “Just a growing boy, I guess.” He glanced behind Harvey to the table. “You folded?”

A careless shrug. “Logan and Benjamin both have something decent. Better than my measly pair of fours.” He popped a pretzel into his mouth and then stole one of Mike’s pizza rolls.

Mike leaned back against the counter, waving his beer around as he spoke. “I suppose you’ve got all of their tells sorted and catalogued?”

“Obviously. Take Benjamin for example. When he gets excited, he starts adjusting his sunglasses. Which kind of defeats the purpose of wearing them.”

“And Logan?”

“With him it’s more subtle. Most of the time, he’s pretty full of himself, using his eye contact like a weapon. But when he has what he thinks is a good hand, he ducks his head. See? Like that. For something truly outstanding, he adds a quick scratch behind his ear. Uh oh. There he goes. Benjamin is so screwed.”

Mike found himself laughing along with Harvey’s play by play commentary. As Logan collected yet another big pot, Mike halted Harvey’s return to the table with a hand on his arm, dropping it quickly at the other man’s heavy gaze. “I know you don’t have to disclose your plans for me if you win, but would you tell me one thing?” Harvey cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do those plans involve a remote island somewhere with me being hunted for sport?”

Harvey’s look was both amused and inscrutable. “No, they didn’t, but now that you mention it, that does sound fun.”

“Um, no. Wait. That was just a jo – ” But Harvey was taking his seat back at the table before Mike could finish his thought.

 

Mike returned to his lonely throne, ate his food and drank his first beer and then his second. He kept half an eye on the game, but it had been a long week and a longer day, and probably somewhere around midnight he dozed off. When he struggled awake again, only Harvey, Logan, Vanessa and Louis remained. As Mike blinked groggily, trying to clear his head, Louis threw his cards down on the table with a moue of disgust.

“Well, shit,” the lawyer groused. “I can’t believe my freaking mojo collapsed so completely.”

“Don’t feel bad, Louis,” Harvey soothed, eyes crinkling with humor. “It happens to everyone, and it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe you should consult your doctor.”

“Oh, shut up.” He cast a regretful eye in Mike’s direction. “We would have had a grand time, young Mike Ross. Now I’ll have to scrounge up a last minute date for opening night of _Die Zauberflöte._ ”

Without taking her eyes off her cards, Vanessa offered, “Maybe Paul’s wife is free.”

Louis sneered at her while Harvey and Logan cracked up laughing. With that, Louis stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. He pointed a finger at Mike. “Keep those hyphens coming. You’re a star.” With his head up, he marched to the door and was gone.

Figuring no one would mind, Mike got up and moved to the table, taking the empty seat next to Vanessa and across from Harvey and Logan. After taking a moment to appreciate the cushy leather chair, rocking back and forth a few times, he did a quick mental tally of the three remaining players’ chips. Logan remained in the lead, although Vanessa wasn’t far behind. Harvey, while retaining a respectable pile, was probably too far behind to end the night as the big winner. This was confirmed when Logan consulted his watch and announced that they had time for one more hand. He winked at Mike, causing him to swallow noisily. Harvey seemed entirely focused on the deck of cards, which he began to shuffle expertly.

“I’ll keep it simple and end with five card draw,” Harvey announced, and they all anted up.

Mike found he couldn’t take his eyes off of Harvey’s hands as he rapidly dealt out the final three hands of the night. They looked strong and solid, but with longish, elegant fingers and square, perfectly manicured nails.

He finally tore his gaze away, only to observe Logan refusing to make eye contact and scratching behind one ear. Mike felt his heart speed up, and feared he was blushing as he grew warm all over. Was he about to be served up to Logan on a platter? The initial round of bets began.

“Hey, this is dramatic huh?” Mike ventured, nerves causing him to babble. “And then there were three. Who will be victorious? Who will win the spoils? Me, that is. The spoils. Wow, that’s a funny word. Makes you wonder how it came to be used that way. Sounds like something rotten, not the booty, or plunder or – ”

“No table talk,” Harvey cut in sternly. He dealt Vanessa two cards to replace the ones she had discarded. Logan took one new card, and Harvey took three.

The wagering began anew. Vanessa bet one hundred. Logan raised her two hundred and Harvey shocked everyone by announcing “All in,” and shoving what Mike estimated amounted to over two thousand dollars’ worth of chips into the middle of the table.

Vanessa gave Harvey a long, considering look before transferring a large portion of her chips into the pot and calling. Now it was up to Logan. His mouth twisted and his brow furrowed as he made his decision. Finally with a muttered, “Fuck it,” he matched the bet and called.

There followed what Mike considered a ridiculously long pause before Vanessa laid down her cards, showing a full house. With a low curse, Logan threw down a flush. Harvey’s only reaction was a quirk to one side of his mouth. He tossed his cards face down on the table and stood up, pulling on his suit jacket in the same motion.

For his part, Mike was frantically making calculations in his head, and reaching the conclusion that Vanessa had come from behind to win the night. If Harvey hadn’t made that last bet, though…. Mike’s eyes narrowed and his gaze fell upon Harvey’s last hand, upside down on the table. Curious, he reached for it, but Harvey’s hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

“Ah ah,” chided Harvey. “Bad etiquette, rookie.”

Logan and Vanessa were busy counting their chips and settling accounts. Evidently everyone else’s night had been a complete bust. While they were occupied, Mike sidled up to Harvey. “Did you do that on purpose?” he asked quietly.

Harvey frowned at him, as if he had no idea what Mike was talking about. “Did I do what? Bluff and lose a few thousand bucks? Just to make sure Logan didn’t win? Don’t be ridiculous.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key and keycard. “I assume you signed the agreement?”

Mike retrieved the document from the corner dais and exchanged it for the key and card.

“Good,” said Harvey. “Make sure you’re here by ten o’clock the first Friday of the month, but no earlier than nine. And don’t get any ideas about hanging out here during the month, or treating it like your own little clubhouse. This game has remained a secret for longer than I’ve worked at this firm, and it needs to stay that way. Understood?”

“Sure. Understood.” Mike yawned hugely. He jumped when Vanessa clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Is my little helper all tuckered out?” she asked, giving him a charming smile. “Let’s get you home. We both need our beauty rest. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.”

They all headed for the exit together, leaving the cards and dirty dishes on the table. Mike wondered who kept the place clean, but was too tired to worry about details like that. He was happy enough to be leaving with Vanessa, but couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be spending the weekend in the company of one of the two men who were standing next to him, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“Try not to break this one, Van,” Harvey said.

Vanessa made a scoffing sound. “That wasn’t my fault.”

Mike felt his eyes go wide and round. “What? What’s this?”

But Harvey and Vanessa ignored him, talking instead about one of Harvey’s current cases. The elevator arrived and Mike remained quiet as they rode it down, leaning against the back wall with his eyes half-closed. He opened them when he felt someone standing close to him. Logan.

“Next month,” the other man promised him solemnly, and discreetly grabbed Mike’s ass for a quick squeeze.

The doors opened and Vanessa seized Mike’s wrist and pulled him after her. “Who’s up for a slumber party?” she asked cheerfully.

“Um. I am?”

“That’s the spirit, darling. I predict that we’re going to have a wonderful weekend.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little violence...a little dubcon...some drugs... It's not much, though. Not much for me, anyway, so...you know, probably too much. 
> 
> Guess I better go update the tags again.

By the time Mike limped into work Monday morning, his sprained ankle, his head and his bruised ribs were all throbbing so fiercely that he had nearly forgotten about his spectacularly colorful black eye. He paused in the doorway, adjusting his crutches, and froze like a deer in the headlights when the animated conversation in the room shut off with a suddenness that had his ears ringing.

"Shit, Mike," Lisa gasped. "Your _eye_. And…and… _everything._ Did you get the license number of the bus that ran you over?"

"Ha ha," he replied listlessly, propping his crutches against the wall, dumping his bag on his desk and rummaging inside it for the pain medication Vanessa had pressed into his hand as she sent him off in a cab earlier this morning. After he'd swallowed three pills and washed them down with half a bottle of water, he became aware of the silence behind him. The _waiting_ silence. He had a story ready to go, but now, as he rehearsed it again in his head, it sounded weak.

Lisa cleared her throat. "Hot date?" she finally ventured, followed by a nervous burst of giggles. When none of the other women joined in, she trailed off with a cough. “Sorry.”

"I... Uh." He turned around to face them, absently rubbed a finger over one eye, and then winced at the pain that kicked up. "Bike accident." He gave a fake laugh and made a circular motion in the air with one finger. "Sailed right over the handlebars. And wow. Talk about embarrassing. And stupid. So, if we could never speak of this again...."

Lisa nodded agreeably, while Kendra muttered a skeptical, "Uh huh," after which Mike heard her whisper to Ruthie, "Gay-bashed, I bet you anything." He wanted to deny it, but it wasn't that far from the truth, and he couldn't tell them the truth, regardless.

_Nothing to see here,_ he thought loudly and aggressively. _Move it along, citizens._ They eventually got the hint and drifted to their own desks to begin another thrilling day of editing bills – or more accurately, a small amount of editing and large amounts of filing, since few of the green draft bills for the new month had been returned yet.

As Mike sorted the contents of his inbox, he was startled by the return of Heidi. She lingered in front of his desk, staring solemnly down at him. Finally, she placed a small card on his desk and slid it toward him with one finger. "It says it's for women,” she whispered, leaning in, “but I think they'd take you." Not giving him a chance to reply, she hurried back to her desk.

Mike picked up the card and stifled a groan, resting his head in his hands. It was the phone number for a women's shelter. He turned his gaze on Heidi, considering her for a few moments, and internally canceled his elaborate plans to sabotage her desk.

After that, he did his best to block out his co-workers, diving into his work with entirely false enthusiasm. Half an hour later, when the words on the page in front of him began to waver a little, and then a little more, it occurred to him that he may have overdone it on the pain meds. On the plus side, his ankle no longer bothered him, and his headache had disappeared.

He crutched his way to the break room and cursed savagely under his breath at the sight of a coffee carafe with only the barest coating of coffee remaining in the bottom.

“Goddamn fucking evil coffee felons oughta be…I oughta….” He would have continued, but it occurred to him that his impotent fist shaking wasn’t getting him any closer to the caffeine fix he desperately needed.

With a dramatic sigh wasted on the empty room, he leaned his crutches against the counter and rooted around in the upper cupboard for a filter and more coffee. Then of course he had to clean out the pot and dump the old filter, feeling more and more wobbly and blurry as he did so. He had the clean pot filled with water and was turning to fill the coffeemaker, but knocked his crutches onto the floor and sent a _splurp_ of water splashing onto his pant leg.

“Holy fucking son of a rabid Welsh corgi,” he raged, and then had to stop a moment to replay exactly what it was he’d just said. Beginning to feel worried, he poked a finger at his cheek. “Nope. I can still feel my face. Whatever she gave me can’t be _that_ strong. And why am I talking to myself?”

“Good question,” said the wry voice that had stalked his dreams all weekend.

Mike whirled too quickly and spilled most of what was left in the coffee pot on his other pant leg. “ _Fuck_.” Gritting his teeth and moving with extra concentration, he placed the glass pot on the countertop. Emboldened by his success in this delicate maneuver, he ignored Harvey for the moment and bent over to retrieve his crutches, resulting in a near face plant. Two hands grasped his shoulders to steady him. “Okay. Thanks, dude.” He went for the crutches with the wave of one hand, but found himself instead pulled upright and propped against the counter.

A frowning Harvey pointed a finger warningly in his face. “Don’t. Move.”

So Mike didn’t.

Harvey picked up Mike’s crutches and handed them to him, poured water into the coffeemaker and started the coffee. Finally, he turned to examine Mike.

“This all happened over the weekend?” He gestured with one hand at Mike’s various injuries to indicate what “this” meant.

Mike nodded.

“Damn it, Vanessa,” muttered Harvey.

“Oh, hey. It’s all good. She took me to the ER and everything. Although she made me sign in as Frank Hardy, which was weird.”

“I’ll say. I would have pegged you as more of a Joe.”

“What?”

“Really? No, never mind. Keep going. I want to hear why I shouldn’t can your ass right now.”

Mike squinted at him, frowning. “Fire me? For what? Bad coffee making?”

“No, genius. For showing up at work high as a kite and violating the contract you signed.”

“Ah. Okay. Now, in my defense, I did not arrive here this way. Vanessa gave me some pills, because Frank Hardy could get his ankle x-rayed – just a sprain, by the way, thanks for asking – and his ribs taped up, but filling a prescription? Not so much. I took what I took, I’ll admit that straight out, but to be honest, I don’t exactly know what I took.” Noticing how dark Harvey’s eyes had gone, Mike stopped talking and waited meekly for the axe to fall.

Instead of wielding an axe, however, Harvey sighed the long, deep sigh of the thoroughly aggrieved and then took a quick glance at his watch. He reached for Mike’s arm. “Come on kid. Let’s get you some fresh air. How about I buy you a nice big cup of coffee while you tell me what happened this weekend?”

Mike crutched along beside Harvey to the elevator, trying and probably failing to hold back a goofy smile. “So is this like a date?”

“No. I just want your side of the story before I ream Vanessa a new one.”

_Feel free to ream me a new one_. Mike stumbled to a stop and listened to the air around him until he was positive he hadn’t said that out loud.

“Quit chasing butterflies, or whatever it is you’re hallucinating,” said Harvey, holding the elevator door for him. “You wouldn’t believe how much this tragic little interlude is costing me. Oh, wait. Yes, you would. You of all people know exactly how much.”

“You bet I do.” Mike leaned against the back wall of the elevator and regarded Harvey through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just don’t let me catch you billing this time to a client. Consider yourself on notice.” He wagged a finger at Harvey to drive the point home.

“Shut up.”

“Roger that.”

Harvey opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it decisively. Mike decided he must be imagining – or hallucinating – the amused smile which kept trying to break out on Harvey’s face as they rode down to the lobby.

 

Ten minutes later, they were settled at a booth in a café, sipping their coffee. The block and a half walk in the brisk morning air had helped clear Mike’s head, and the coffee continued the good work. His ribs ached a bit, and his armpits chafed from the crutches, but at least he was away from his desk.

He began his story.

“Vanessa drove me to her place after the game. Everything started out nice enough. She fixed me a comfy bed on her couch, and made me hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. And I’m not talking about Swiss Miss, here. She actually _made_ me hot chocolate from scratch. With the cocoa powder and the whole nine yards.”

Eyes filled with derision, Harvey asked, “And did Mommy dress you up in footie pajamas, too, before she tucked you in?”

“No. It was just… _nice_ , that’s all. It’s not like anybody ever…never mind. It was just nice.”

“Oh, that’s right. Orphan. Since I assume this isn’t the part where Tyler Durden threw you through a plate glass window, or whatever, let’s just skip ahead, shall we?”

Mike glared at Harvey for a few seconds. “Oh, that’s right. Dick. Fine. Next morning Vanessa woke me up with a lovely breakfast. I won’t bore you with all the details involving homemade waffles, fresh sliced fruit, real maple syrup – ”

“Mike….”

“After the lovely meal, she sat me in front of a computer, and sat herself in front of another one, and we started researching this guy she’s investigating for another law firm. I’m sure you can understand why I can’t give you his name.”

“I don’t care. Let’s get to the mayhem, please.”

“God, now you sound like _all_ of my dates lately.” Mike instantly regretted his words. Harvey’s face could have been cut from stone. Or maybe a block of ice. “Er. Heh. Moving rapidly past that as if it never happened….That night, we began by staking out his home near…well never mind where he lives. Vanessa was all slutted up in this great mini-dress with the heels and the legs and a really nice smoky eye going on – I helped with that by the way – in case he went out. To lure him into, you know, her web.”

“Her web.”

“Like a spider. So anyway, we wait, and you might think, hmm, a stakeout. They probably scarfed down a few convenience store burritos or something equally lame, but no. Vanessa had this whole picnic basket of food, like she was the caterer to a summer wedding at Martha’s Vineyard or somewhere like that. Not that I’ve ever been there, and…what?”

Harvey had begun massaging the vertical crease that had formed between his eyebrows.

“Mike,” began Harvey, voice deadly calm, “are you purposely fucking with me right now?”

“Little bit.” He winced at the heat that flared in Harvey’s eyes, because it was definitely not the good kind of heat. “It was the orphan crack,” he admitted.

“Thank you for that honesty. I…apologize, I guess. Now tell me what happened.”

Mike took a deep breath and eased it out slowly. He _had_ been fucking with Harvey out of spite, but he also felt oddly reluctant to relate the story. It seemed he had no choice, however. “The subject – let’s just call him Fred to make things easier – Fred left his family condo and we followed him to a club in Brooklyn. I recognized the place, although it’s in a neighborhood I try to avoid. But, as it turned out, Vanessa’s slutty outfit wasn’t going to do her much good.”

“It was a gay club.”

“Yes. We had to improvise on the spot. We switched roles.”

Harvey’s eyes had narrowed. “Oh, please tell me you wore the dress.”

Mike almost snorted coffee through his nose at that. “I did not.”

“Don’t tell me you were still wearing your khaki-tastrophe ensemble?”

“Oh, that’s funny. I see what you did there. And no. V drove me by my place earlier that day for a change of clothes.”

“V, is it?”

“Yeah. That’s what I call her now. We’re besties. You got a problem with that?”

“No, it just puts me in mind of lizard women who dine on live rodents.”

“Well…some of those lizard women were hot as fuck. Or so I’ve been told by people who would know.”

“Who, other lizard people?” Harvey’s expression was open and amused, as if he had forgotten for the moment that he was the reigning emperor of dickheads in a profession overflowing with raging, press-until-it-hurts, go-for-the-jugular dickheads

Mike’s grin slipped from his face at the thought. What were they even doing here? He drank some coffee to cover his discomfort, and then cleared his throat. “Anyway….” He could see Harvey’s amusement fade, turning back to cynical impatience.

“Right. Let’s cut the bullshit. How about you finish your story and we can both get back to work?”

“Fine. I followed, uh, Fred into the club. V-Vanessa had a mic on me, one of those high tech gizmos, and she was supposed to be waiting in the alley behind the building with her camera. My objective was pretty simple: lure Fred into the alley where she could photograph him _in flagrante delicto._ ”

Harvey held up a hand. “Wait. What are you saying? With you? Vanessa ordered you to have sex with a total stranger because she needed some damning photographs for a client?”

Mike gave a vigorous head shake. “No. Not ordered. It was my _objective._ ” Even to his own ears it sounded like a ridiculous argument, but he stared back at Harvey, daring him to contradict him. It had all seemed to make sense at the time, but now, in retrospect, maybe it had been a reckless move. “I was playing a part. Vanessa was willing to do the same, things just worked out differently than she expected.”

In the end, Harvey sighed softly, his mouth took on a pinched look, and he went back to rubbing between his eyebrows. “Ignoring for the moment every ridiculous thing that just came out of your mouth, how did you get the shiner? And the rest of it? Did Fred catch on to your plan?”

“No. I suppose I was convincing enough. I have my moves, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

“Fred wanted to go to a hotel, which was a surprisingly considerate gesture, but I persuaded him that quick and dirty in the alley would be more fun. So out we went. I should say, I went first. I looked for Vanessa at the end of the alley. She was supposed to signal me with a flashlight, but I couldn’t see anything. Then Fred was there, and it was either go through with it or let Vanessa down. I was leaning toward option two. That Fred, though. For a big guy, he’s got quick hands, like clever little squirrel fingers.” He wiggled his own fingers to demonstrate.

“Squirrel fingers?”

“Don’t interrupt. Before my brain can catch up with what’s happening, he’s got my pants undone and down to my knees.” Mike knew he was blushing furiously, but forced himself to continue the story as if it had just been another routine day at the office. “I’m frantically looking for Vanessa, wondering if I’m about to have meaningless sex for no reason, and Squirrel Hands is all over me. Where I should have been looking was the other end of the alley, because that’s where they came from.”

“They?”

“The three guys who – well, I think you can put it together yourself.” He transferred his gaze to the table top, refusing to elaborate on the assault. “Fred took off. Can’t really blame him. And…Vanessa showed up eventually. Did you know she’s got this ginormous Glock? She stormed in there with that gun in her hand. The bad guys all ran away. The end.”

A long stretch of silence, then, “Mike.”

He forced himself to meet Harvey’s dark gaze. “Shouldn’t we go back to work now?”

“Tell me what happened after Fred left and before Vanessa got there.”

Mike rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension in them. “It was a fight. I lost.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” Harvey leaned in, eyes filled with concern.

_That was all, except that Mike had only managed to throw one punch, which missed by half a foot. He’d been held down, punched in the face, kicked in the ribs, called ugly names, and when they’d tried to finish Fred’s work and drag his pants the rest of the way off, he’d made a desperate lunge and tried to flee, but tripped on his pants and twisted his ankle. If Vanessa hadn’t shown up when she did…._

“That’s all,” he assured Harvey, but Harvey’s expression told him he didn’t believe him for a second. “Look, don’t be too hard on Vanessa. Right up until the end, I was having a blast with her. And Sunday she totally pampered me. Plus she showed me how to hack into all kinds of cool websites…what?”

Harvey was shaking his head. “I didn’t hear that.” He sighed. “Mike, Vanessa signed a contract to get into the game. We all did. I can’t tell you everything in the players’ contract, but it specifically forbids reckless behavior resulting in damage to the Jackpot. In my role as current Procurer, it falls upon me to censure Vanessa for violating her responsibilities as this month’s winner.”

“But she didn’t – ”

“That’s for me to decide. Don’t worry. I’ll get her side of the story first. I’m sure she’ll fill me in on whatever you left out.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s it for now. Back to work.”

Not sure he wanted to know the answer, Mike asked, “How long have we been gone?”

“Over an hour.”

“Shit. What am I supposed to tell my boss? Or my co-workers?”

“If anyone gives you any trouble, tell them you were with me, going over my bills.”

_Oh yeah, get out of jail free card._ He’d almost forgotten that sweet part of the deal.

As if on an afterthought, Harvey added, “Oh, and get yourself healthy before the next game.”

Mike sputtered out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually care about my health?”

A wicked smile split the other man’s face. “When I win you, I want you looking pretty and in good working order.”

A mouth hanging stupidly open wasn’t much of a response, but it was all that Mike could muster.

They left the café together, but parted ways on the sidewalk. Harvey departed on some unnamed errand, and Mike headed back to the office. He felt unsettled by their talk. Parts of it had been hugely entertaining, but recounting his Saturday night had brought back all of the fear and humiliation that he’d managed to push aside.

Despite all of the dangers inherent in selling drugs, Mike had never been blindsided like that before. He’d had a few close calls, but had always managed to talk or joke his way out of it, or to simply jump on his bike and escape. Even now, on the relatively tame sidewalks of Manhattan, he felt vulnerable and on edge. Telling himself the feeling would fade, he clumped back to his building, rode the elevator up, and made his way to the billing department to find Carla standing at his desk.

“Early lunch break, Mike?” she asked tartly.

“Uh. No. Sorry. I was talking to one of my attorney’s. About his bills.”

She didn’t look convinced. “And which attorney was that?”

“Harvey. Harvey Specter.”

“Hmm. Quite a long chat. I’m glad you’re back. Since we’re slow for a few days, I’m going to have you sit with Kendra so she can cross-train you on electronic billing. Maybe you’ve noticed that Kendra is the resident expert. So, go. Learn.” She turned abruptly and went back to her office.

By leaning forward and craning his head, Mike could see her sit down and immediately pick up her phone.

“Don’t be shy,” Kendra urged him. “Get your butt over here. I’ve got a shit ton to teach you.”

He nodded absently, and then grabbed his chair and rolled it over to her desk. He winced at the way his ribs twinged. Kendra noticed.

“You feeling okay?” She pulled upon the middle drawer of her desk. “I’ll get you fixed up. Let me see…I’ve got some Percoset, a couple Vicodin, Tylenol 4’s….”

Mike shook his head firmly. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“They’re all legal, sweetie. Just some leftovers.”

“Still.”

She made a _tsk_ ing sound. “Gonna work through pain, huh? All right, but if you change your mind….”

“I’ll know where to come.”

 

Just after lunch, Mike’s desk phone rang. The caller ID showed that it was an internal call from someone named Donna.

“Billing department,” he answered.

“Harvey has a message for you.”

_Oh, right._ That _Donna._

“Oh, hey. It’s nice to meet you. On the phone, I mean. Harvey mentioned you. Uh, in passing.”

“Only in passing? Is that all he thinks I merit?”

“What? No. It, I mean you, came up briefly – ”

“No sass, and no backtalk.”

“Was that Harvey’s message?”

“Stop interrupting. I’m to inform you that your cab fare between work and home will be covered by the injuring party until such time as you are able to resume your usual method of transportation. Also, and I quote, ‘Remind the genius that he has health insurance now. Tell him to go see a doctor and get some legitimate pain medication.’ End quote. And end conversation.”

“So he thinks I’m a genius?”

Donna broke the connection, and he listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before hanging up.

“Get back here, sweetie,” Kendra called, apparently revived after lunch. “We’re going to cover how to format a split bill, so buckle in.”

He bared his teeth at her. “Can’t wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Life got a little too interesting to handle for a while there. Also, thanks for all of the encouraging comments, and for the chewy and delicious kudos. This chapter was meant to go on a bit longer, but I rashly promised an update by today, and so I think I will stop here and post what I've got.
> 
> This story has my full attention now, and I will do my best to update every week. Er, okay it has almost my full attention. That other story I'm working on (Art of Memory) is winding to a close, which, for me, is the most challenging phase. It's coming along, but slowly. I estimate I'm about a week away from posting the next chapter.

A week later, Mike’s ankle felt better, and he had abandoned his crutches. Monday was Lisa’s birthday, and the department took her out to lunch at the semi-fancy restaurant on the second floor of their building. Carla had been invited, but turned them down just as she always did.

While they waited for their meals to be served, Mike remained quiet and let the gossip and shop talk wash over him.

He’d spent the previous night – Sunday – with Vanessa again. She had been prohibited from taking him out with her on any more jobs, so they’d watched the football game and gorged themselves on Vanessa’s excellent parmesan chicken, macaroni salad and apple-ginger cake. After the Jets had lost, they took to their computers and indulged in a little recreational hacking. Mike laughed until he was sick at the decade old photos of Harvey that they found online. “Now _that_ is an unfortunate hair style,” he’d gasped. “No wonder he keeps it on such tight lockdown these days.”

After they’d logged off, they shared the last of Vanessa’s good vodka and chatted companionably. Because he was feeling mellow, Mike asked her some of the questions about the poker game which still had him curious.

“How long has it been going on?”

“Oh, years. Decades, probably. The game was around before Pearson Specter – before Pearson Hardman, even. I’m not sure who started it, or when, but I do know that it was much different back then.”

“Different how?”

“The jackpot, for starters.” She shifted around on the couch so that she could rest her bare feet in his lap. “It was a total boy’s club back then, and let’s face it: left to their own devices, boys are the absolute worst. They would rent a hotel room for the weekend, someone would hire a hooker, and they’d play for the privilege of banging her for the rest of the weekend. Some of the winners were generous, and shared with the rest of the players. Over time, the girls were invited to bring a few friends with them, and things spiraled out of control from there. The monthly orgy came to a screeching halt when the hotel management became suspicious and called the cops. The room was raided and that was that.”

“Did anyone go to jail?”

Vanessa laughed, a bright, liquid sound. “Darling, are you really that naïve? The answer is no, and when I tell you that the assistant district attorney at the time was a nasty little piece of work named Cameron Dennis, I’ll just bet you can guess what happened next.”

“Um, he blackmailed them to get into the game?”

“Yahtzee. And then, let’s see….Jessica Pearson and Daniel Hardman staged their little coup and took over the firm, and Daniel took over the game. He set up the current space for it, and instituted the non-disclosure agreements to cover all their asses. The hookers continued up until Jessica kicked Daniel to the curb. She joined the game as the first female participant. She only played in a handful of the games, but as you can well imagine, things were never the same after that.”

Mike absently massaged Vanessa’s feet. “I bet that made it more difficult to find their jackpots.”

“Indeed. It can be a frustratingly complicated process, finding someone to please all the players, but it is so rewarding when we find the right person.” She gave him a fond, if somewhat maudlin, smile.   “Harvey outdid himself when he found you.”

Mike’s soft grunt was his only comment. They were both quiet for a few minutes, and then Mike asked her, “How did Harvey get into the game?”

“Cameron brought him in.”

” _Cameron_? I thought they hated each other.”

She gave him a sad smile. “They do now, or so they claim. But Harvey used to work for Cameron at the DA’s office. Cameron was his mentor.”

“Huh.” Mike let it drop. He had plenty more questions about the game and the players, but at that moment he was too relaxed – and way too tired – to bother asking them. Vanessa sent him home in a cab around 1:00 a.m., and when he dragged himself into work mere hours later, he spent much of the morning fantasizing about crawling under his desk and napping the rest of the day away.

 

“Look at her,” Ruthie sneered, startling Mike out of his near doze. “How does she expect anyone to take her seriously in those ridiculous little outfits?”

Mike turned to his right, where the four women were staring. “Who? What? Where?” he inquired, blinking rapidly.

“Rachel Zane,” Lisa stage-whispered. “The stuck up paralegal. They just seated her at that table over by the window.”

Stuck up? Mike had spoken to Rachel on the phone once to clarify one of her time entries, and she had seemed perfectly nice to him.   Looking around the table and seeing nearly identical squint-eyed, frowning faces, he decided it must be jealousy. Or possibly pack aggression. “I take it you don’t like her,” he ventured.

Kendra harrumphed. “Her daddy is a big shot attorney with his own firm, and yet she couldn’t be bothered to do the work to get her own JD. Have you seen her hourly rate? For a _paralegal_? Something’s fishy there. She’s got to be the highest paid paralegal in the firm, with her own office and everything. A _window_ office, no less.”

“And you can see what she spends it all on,” Ruthie added. “Only Jessica Pearson owns a fancier wardrobe than her.”

Mike opened his mouth to speak, feeling an obscure need to defend the paralegal, but then snapped it shut again. Joining Rachel at her table just then was another all too familiar figure: Logan Sanders. Mike turned away, wishing he still had his menu so that he could hide his blushing face behind it, like some hapless rom-com idiot.

The appearance of the handsome client set off another round of catty remarks.

“I guess that’s back on,” Lisa said, smirking and popping a mozzarella stick in her mouth.

“What’s back on?” Mike asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

Heidi had been nearly as quiet as Mike, but now she spoke up, voice somber. “It’s common knowledge that she’s the one who broke up his marriage.”

“ _Marriage_?” This was all entirely new information, and Mike was having difficulty processing it.

“Sure,” said Ruthie. “Logan and Rachel Zane were having this hot and heavy affair, and his wife found out. Logan chose Rachel over the wife, went to see a divorce lawyer, but Rachel broke it off with him anyway. I can’t believe he’d even want to look at her now, much less have lunch with her.”

“Or canoodle.” Lisa prodded Mike’s shoulder. “Would you take a look at _that?_ ”

Against his will, Mike did take a look, and immediately turned away again. Logan had cradled the back of Rachel’s head with one hand and they were sharing a long, passionate kiss.”

“Bleh,” Heidi opined. “Can’t they see we’re trying to eat here?” Despite her words, she continued to wolf down her pastrami sandwich.

Mike, however, had lost his appetite for real. So Logan was apparently bi. He could deal with that, but evidence seemed to point to the fact that he was also a serial cheater. He’d cheated on his wife, and now he was actively working on winning Mike in order to cheat on Rachel. Even as part of Mike felt flattered to even be in the running – because come on, just look at that sexy paralegal! – he also felt a weird sort of shame at being involved in Logan’s scheme. This last made little or no sense, since Mike hadn’t asked for any of this, and nothing had even happened yet with Logan, aside from some mild flirting and heated looks.

Speaking of heated looks, Logan had finally caught sight of Mike. While his hand continued to stroke up and down Rachel’s back, he looked straight at Mike from across the restaurant and gave him a slow wink.

“Ohmygod,” Ruthie breathed. “Did you see that? He just winked at me.”

“You?” Kendra scoffed. “He was looking right at me when he did it.

Neither Lisa nor Heidi offered an opinion, but both gave Mike long, considering looks. Heidi’s conclusion became clear when her eyes darkened and she directed what could only be called a dangerous gaze in Logan’s direction. Mike should have felt warmed by her sudden protective feelings toward him, but really, that whole misunderstanding about how he had come by his recent injuries was beginning to stink strongly of farce.

He was distracted from his worries about Heidi’s possible burgeoning vendetta against Logan and his imagined wrongs against Mike, when Lisa leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I wouldn’t, if I were you. I really wouldn’t.”

Mike’s feelings on the matter of Logan Sanders were mixed. Would he? Should he? Would he ever even have to make that decision? He shoved his chicken salad away and slumped in his chair. When had his life begun transforming into a freaking _telenovela_?

 

Nothing of note happened during the rest of October. The bills poured into the department and poured back out, and the wheels of commerce churned on.

On the 31st, the firm held its annual Halloween brunch and costume contest. Mike didn’t dress up, but his co-workers threw themselves into the spirit of things with gusto. Lisa dressed up as a sexy zombie, Ruthie as a traditional witch, Heidi as one of the estate planning partners who Mike had never met, and Kendra donned a tight pencil skirt, body-hugging white blouse and stiletto pumps, and called herself Rachel Zane. The resemblance wasn’t bad, but in Mike’s opinion, it was an unnecessarily nasty jab at the paralegal, who as far as he could tell had never committed a single mean act against any of the billers.

Brunch turned out to be rather impressive, catered by one of the nearby restaurants. Donna Paulson won the costume contest with her elaborate Disney princess getup. Mike took the opportunity to introduce himself to Harvey’s assistant in person, but was immediately ordered to genuflect and then was boxed out by the dozens of other employees eager to congratulate her royal highness.

He didn’t see Harvey at the brunch, or Louis, or in fact any of the partners. A few associates stopped by, none in costume except for blond, baby-faced Harold Gunderson, who came as Khal Drogo from _Game of Thrones_ , which Mike decided was perhaps the worst thing he had ever seen.

 

When Friday arrived, Mike’s nerves were jumping. He took special pains with his appearance that morning, and stuffed his messenger bag with a change of clothes, a few energy bars, a small tube of lube, and a handful of condoms – because, better safe than sorry.

He knew from his frequent texts and phone conversations with Vanessa that she wouldn’t be there tonight. Harvey had put her on double secret probation, or something equally ridiculous, due to the damage Mike had sustained while in her “possession.”

The draft bills for the month had been run earlier in the week, so Mike had no excuse to stay at work past five o’clock. Not wishing to go all the way home only to turn around and come back, he found a bar close by that looked like they wouldn’t mind him hanging out for a few hours. He was tempted to do a few shots to help with his nerves, but per his contract he was only allowed two beers for the entire night. In the end, he chose to behave himself, and stuck with coffee and a plate of onion rings.

At ten minutes until nine, feeling jittery from too much caffeine, Mike paid his tab and made his way back to the building to ride the elevator up to the fifty-second floor. This time he made the creepy walk between the creaking shelves of file boxes alone, and let himself into the super-secret clubhouse. Not surprisingly, he was the first to arrive.

While he had the space to himself, he fixed himself a snack – a couple of sandwiches and mini-pizzas – grabbed his first beer of the night, and settled into his chair in the corner. He didn’t have to wait long for company. The sound of laser bursts heralded a new arrival, who turned out to be Tom Keller, carrying a half-case of beer and a grocery bag filled with food and hard liquor.

“Wow,” commented Mike, as he helped Tom put everything away in the kitchenette, “does everyone bring this much?”

“Oh, that’s right. You were asleep when I made my inglorious exit last time. As the big loser of the night, I was responsible for cleaning and restocking.”

“Ah. I thought it might be elves.”

“I wish. I was in here bright and early Saturday morning, washing dishes and carrying out the trash and recycling.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey, we’ve got twenty minutes to kill. Do you want to go down to the parking garage with me and smoke a bowl? I know all the dead spots for the surveillance cameras.”

Mike gave a nervous laugh. “It’s tempting, but also a really bad idea. I still need my crummy job.”

Tom shrugged affably. “Too bad.”

More laser blasts erupted from the speakers, and Paul entered the room, followed closely by Benjamin and Louis. Paul immediately moved to the kitchenette and fixed himself a generous portion of brandy.

Louis walked up to Mike. “I have one word for you, Mike: ‘ _Spamalot._ ’ That got your attention, didn’t it? When you’re rooting for me to win tonight, try not to be too obvious.”

“That’s your idea of a hot, new show? Hasn’t that been around for a while?”

“Sure, but I’m endeavoring to tailor the experience to my prospective companion.”

“It could be worse Michael,” interjected Benjamin, who was mixing a complicated drink involving a multitude of liquor, liqueurs and mixers. “At least it’s not _Jersey Boys._ ” He tossed two maraschino cherries into his tumbler.

As Benjamin and Louis began a quietly vicious argument over the merits and drawbacks of various Broadway musicals, Mike did his best to tune them out.

At ten minutes until ten, Cameron Dennis strolled in and fixed himself a scotch. His eyes found Mike, and although he didn’t say anything, he gave Mike a short nod of acknowledgement before he took his seat beside Paul.

Next to arrive was Harvey, accompanied by Donna. At Donna’s appearance, Mike heard several groans, but couldn’t pinpoint their source.

“Since Vanessa is sitting this one out,” Harvey announced, “Donna has graciously agreed to fill in once more.”

Donna sat at the table. “And Harvey has graciously agreed to buy my chips.”

Mike raised one hand into the air. “Um. Hey. Excuse me. Doesn’t she have to say what she’ll do with me if she wins?”

“First of all,” she answered, pausing to give Harvey a grateful smile when he brought her a martini with three olives, “I’m Donna and I do what I want, so no, I don’t have to tell you. Secondly, I don’t need you cramping my style this weekend, so if I win, I will activate the substitute clause, and turn you over to whomsoever I choose.”

Alarmed by this news, Mike looked to Harvey for confirmation. “Is that true? She can do that for real? Whomsoever?”

Harvey dropped heavily into the chair next to Donna, and Mike noticed for the first time that he appeared both exhausted and irate. “For realsies,” said Harvey, voice dripping with scorn. “She can, and – with her uncanny luck – she most likely will. Don’t worry, I doubt she’ll give you to me.”

Perversely, Mike felt insulted by this revelation. “Well, why the fuck not?” he asked before he could get control of his mouth.

Donna smiled and sipped her martini, but didn’t deign to answer him.

Harvey stared back at Mike with an unreadable expression on his face. To cover his sudden discomfort, Mike stuffed an entire mini-pizza in his mouth. He was still struggling to swallow when the door slid open, Logan strolled in, and the game was underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Feeling too keyed up to sit still, Mike got up and edged closer to the table, hovering behind Paul and Cameron. The atmosphere in the room seemed weirdly tense tonight, and after he'd studied each player for a few minutes, he was able to trace the tension back to Harvey and Donna. She smiled and teased and taunted the others, but as she placed her bets, and raised and called, her eyes flashed with poorly concealed anger. Harvey, for his part, seemed merely exasperated, as if he understood the cause of Donna's anger, and was at the same time annoyed by it.

Everyone else seemed to have picked up on these undercurrents, whether consciously or subconsciously, and remained serious and subdued, taking a little extra time and thought over their betting strategies. As the evening progressed, several of the players began a sort of secondary competition to see who could best cater to Donna's every need, both expressed and unexpressed.  

Paul took it upon himself to keep her martini glass filled, and replenish her olives regularly. Benjamin brought her various snack foods, most of which she ignored. Every time Louis folded, he popped up out of his chair and went to stand behind Donna to rub her shoulders. She put up with it for a while, before scolding him sharply.

"Louis," she snapped. "Bad touch. Stop."

He blushed and retook his seat.

Donna's neat piles of chips slowly but steadily climbed higher while everyone else's just as steadily dwindled.

Eventually, Mike’s long day began to catch up with him. He yawned and returned to the isolation of his corner chair, leaning back and pulling up the foot rest. It seemed his fate rested in Donna's hands tonight. He just hoped that whatever had her so steamed at Harvey wouldn't translate into a terrible weekend for Mike.

As he idly considered his choices, though, he had trouble deciding what would be the worst case scenario. Benjamin had some quirks, granted, but playing games all weekend held a certain appeal. It would almost feel like being back in college.

Paul Porter? Perhaps Mike would have to fend off his over-sexed wife, but he had some fun places in mind that he could take her to. If she turned out to be anything like Vanessa, it promised to be an enjoyable time.

If Tom Keller got the nod from Donna, Mike would probably have to crank up his brain a little, at the same time fighting the temptation of smoking up with Tom. He considered whether or not he could get away with it, and decided the odds were good. Harvey wouldn't resort to forcing a piss test on Mike, would he?

And then there was Louis. The more Mike got to know him, the more the other man alarmed him. On the surface, it seemed that Louis only wanted a spa buddy and theater companion, but he had repeatedly demonstrated a lack of respect for personal boundaries. Mike had a frightening vision of himself being chased around by Louis all weekend, while screaming, "Bad touch!" over and over. _Spamalot_ hardly seemed an adequate reward for enduring Louis's many oddities.

Cameron Dennis had been mysteriously vague about what he would require of Mike. Harvey's animosity for the man may have colored Mike's view of the former DA, but he sensed something sneaky and a little bit sinister about him, and didn't particularly wish to find out what he was planning.

Of those five men -- Benjamin, Paul, Tom, Louis and Cameron, Mike decided that Louis and Cameron were in a dead heat for last place in the race to the bottom of Mike's wish list.

Harvey and Logan fell into a separate category altogether, a category Mike had labeled, "Fuck yes....but hell, no!" Or perhaps it was, "Fuck no...but hell yes!" With half-slitted eyes, he watched them where they sat at the table, separated by Donna, faces equally somber, serious and handsome. Both of them made his insides lurch a little when he looked at them.

With Harvey, it was that undeniable chemical thing that shot through Mike’s veins whenever they were in range of one another.   He triggered something in Mike's gut that made him want to do bad things...nasty, sweaty, hot, slippery... _things._ Oh yes, the man definitely brought out the dirty in Mike.

And with Logan....Mike bit his lower lip, trying to puzzle that one out. He should be put off by Logan's involvement with Rachel, and his blatantly dishonorable intentions to betray her if he had the chance. If Mike's gossipy co-workers could be believed, Logan had a history of this type of behavior. Mike couldn't help but feel that if he (Mike) were a better person, he wouldn't even be entertaining thoughts about doing the horizontal hokey pokey with Logan Sanders. By all rights he should be repelled by the man's cockiness, and by the arrogant assumption that Mike would be okay with being a party to betrayal. He wasn’t though.

As Mike thought about it some more, he was forced to acknowledge that Logan shared that cockiness and arrogance with Harvey. He was beginning to suspect that he had a type, and that type could quite likely end up being disastrous for his peace of mind. Was he really that self-destructive, he wondered?

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a short burst of swearing at the poker table.

"Damn it," Tom grumbled, throwing his cards down in disgust. "Looks like I'm on clean up duty again." He shoved his chair away from the table and ran an agitated hand through his blond hair. "Should I even bother sticking around Donna? Or have you already decided who gets Mike tonight?"

Protests erupted from the other players at the table, which Donna quelled with a single, all-encompassing glare.

"It's not even midnight yet," she pointed out. "One of you gentlemen could still come back and take the win."

"Yeah, right," somebody groused in an undertone -- probably Benjamin.

Tom must have shared the grouser's skepticism -- which meant he was still in the running to win Mike -- so he stayed at the table, only getting up to fix himself a jumbo sized vodka and orange juice.

Next to go out was Paul, and then Louis, who fidgeted, rocked in his chair, and nursed a glass of chardonnay while casting occasional wistful, almost weepy glances in Mike's directions.

Cameron dealt the next game, and announced that they'd be playing Texas Hold 'Em.   Benjamin begin fiddling with his sunglasses the second he got a look at his two hole cards. Logan folded, Benjamin bet two hundred, and then everyone else went out except for Donna, who called. Three more cards -- the flop -- were dealt face up. Mike couldn't see what they were from where he was sitting, but more betting and raising ensued.

Harvey stood and went to the kitchenette to refill his scotch. Against his better judgment, Mike joined him there.

"Donna's quite the poker savant," Mike observed.

A soft grunt from Harvey.

"So...." He really shouldn't ask, but Mike couldn’t' seem to stop himself. "What's up with you and Donna? Did you stomp on her puppy's tail or something?"

Harvey gave Mike an, "Are you a freaking moron?" look and tossed back some scotch. "It's not your concern," he finally answered.

"Oh really? It seems like whatever it is affects my immediate future, so I'm thinking maybe it is my business." Harvey's expression didn't thaw even the slightest bit, so Mike added, "Or not. Whatever. I just -- "

"You wouldn't want to be around me this weekend anyway, Mike. Trust me on that."

"Why not?" he asked, when he should have been protesting Harvey's assumption that going home with Harvey was what Mike had even wanted. And he knew that whatever went on between Harvey and his assistant actually was none of his business, but this unexpectedly bleak Harvey had him concerned in spite of himself. Why that was, he couldn't have said. "What did you do to her?"

"Mike. Drop it."

An arctic chill had infused Harvey's voice, so Mike dropped it, and Harvey returned to the table as Donna scraped in her latest haul. The now chipless Benjamin slumped in his chair, dejected, and slipped his hipster shades into his pocket.

 

In the end, Cameron Dennis was the last to go down against Donna. To his credit, he went down swinging, losing a game of five card draw with a full house to Donna's four queens. At that point, Mike began to secretly wonder if Donna had been cheating all along, but that thought was pushed out of his mind when the moment of truth came and Donna prepared to anoint her winner-by-proxy.

“Mike,” she called out to him, “get over here, so we can wrap this up.”

He suppressed the loud sigh that badly wanted out, closed the chair’s foot rest, and joined the players at the table. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said. “Who gets me?”

Donna looked around the table. “Does anyone want to make a last minute pitch on their own behalf?”

Cameron spoke up immediately. “I did come in second, so I think by all rights, I ought to win.”

Donna’s mouth crimped with obvious distaste. “No,” was all she said, clipped and final.

“No?” asked Cameron, voice incredulous. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

The Ark of the Covenant had nothing on the glare Donna turned on the former DA. Mike was surprised that everyone at the table’s face didn’t melt right off. “You want me to elaborate?” said Donna scathingly. “All right. How about hell, no? Fuck, no. Or, wait. I’ve got it: hell to the fucking no.”

She might have continued, but Cameron held up his hand, cutting her off. “Then I guess you’re not serious about punishing Harvey for whatever heinous act he committed this week. Because if you were, I’d be your guy.”

“You’ll never be my guy. Would you like to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because evil personified will never be my guy.”

“You could have fooled me,” Harvey muttered enigmatically.

Donna ignored him. She held up her index finger when Cameron looked as if he had more to say. “No,” she chided. “No. Don’t speak. Just go.”

A bout of Olympic level glaring ensued. It didn’t last long, and ended with Donna winning the gold and Cameron stomping out of the room, the very picture of the agony of defeat, his cheeks flushed with temper. Mike could only hope he didn’t own any pets or garden gnomes which would bear the brunt of his anger.

With Cameron gone, the tension in the room lowered by a few notches.

“Anyone else?” Donna asked, voice laced with menace. “No? Good.” She whirled her index finger in a lazy circular motion, stopping it seemingly at random when it pointed in the direction of Paul Porter. “Paul, he’s yours.”

Muttered curses erupted from the losers and then everyone was heading for the door. Mike went to collect his bag, and by the time he turned around again, only Paul and Harvey remained. Harvey had a firm hold on Paul’s shoulder and was speaking into his ear, too low for Mike to make out any words.

Paul scowled and nodded and gestured to Mike. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

“We do? How long?” Mike asked.

“About forty-five minutes. Maybe a little less this time of night.” There was a brief pause before he added, “I live in Harrison.”

_Ooh, fancy,_ Mike thought to himself, and then immediately wondered if that was even correct. It wasn’t like he’d ever actually been there before.

The three of them – Mike, Paul and Harvey – left together and rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence. Harvey got out there, but Mike and Paul continued down to the underground parking garage, where they got into Paul’s silver Mercedes.

Mike cleared his throat. “So, what’s your wife’s name?”

“Hm? Bianca.” The squeal of his tires echoed in the deserted parking garage as they circled up towards the exit. When they reached the street, Paul drove with one hand for a few minutes while he used his other to place a call on his cell phone. “Yes,” he said, to whoever answered his call. “Yes, I got him.” He held his phone away from his ear for several seconds, mouth creased with distaste, and even Mike could hear the shriek of excitement on the other end of the line. “Christ, Bianca, get hold of yourself. You haven’t even seen him yet. Uh huh. We’re on the way. Half an hour, maybe a bit more. No, I don’t care. Whatever you want. Sure, sure. He knows.”

He hung up and gave Mike a sidewise, semi-apologetic glance.

Mike had a laundry list of questions he wanted to ask at that point, but his need to know what to expect was outweighed by his fear of what the answers might be.

Paul turned to a soft jazz station on Sirius, and aside from the music, they completed the drive north in silence. Mike might have given in to weariness and dozed, except that his nerves were jumping like crazy by now.

Finally, Paul exited the freeway and wove his way through a sprawling neighborhood of large, but not ostentatious homes. He pulled to a stop in front of a vaguely colonial style two story home with a well-groomed lawn and a two car garage. No welcoming lights greeted them, not even a porch light.

After they had sat in silence for a few moments, Paul urged Mike, “Well? What are you waiting for? She’s waiting for you. Get out.”

Mike had a bad feeling about this. He kept that to himself however, determined to be a good sport about the whole thing, and got out of the car. When he shut the door behind him, the sound seemed to reverberate in the utter quiet of the neighborhood. Paul didn’t wait around to see that Mike got inside. As soon as the passenger door closed, he accelerated off into the night with a showy squeal of tires.

Except for a flickering streetlight halfway down the block, Mike was left in darkness. He briefly considered bolting, and maybe hiding out until morning in the greenbelt they’d passed about half a mile back. He took a deep, fortifying breath and began the long walk up the path that led from the sidewalk to the front door.

The sound of the doorbell echoed eerily through the house, followed by silence. Mike opened the screen door and knocked, waited, and knocked again, louder.

“I’m back here,” came a woman’s voice, drifting through the dark house. “Go on and let yourself in, sweetie.”

_Sweetie_ , was it? Okay, that could work. At least it hadn’t been _stud_ , or _lover_.

Mike turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and entered the house. Now he could make out a dim, hazy sort of light which danced and moved over the walls of a hallway leading toward what must be the back of the house. As he went towards the light, it gradually grew brighter, until finally he entered the room from which it emanated, and found himself staring at a scene straight out of his worst nightmares.

A woman, who had to be Bianca Porter, nude except for a black bustier, thong, and thigh high black leather boots, stood in front of a king-size bed covered in a ruby red satin sheet. Candles twinkled and guttered all over the room, the shadows they created lending a sinister aspect to the tableau. And it was already plenty sinister, because Bianca sneered menacingly back at him as she slowly tapped a riding crop against one hand. Behind her on the bed were arrayed metal handcuffs and the infamous strap-on that Benjamin had alluded to.

Bianca was younger than Mike had expected. He estimated she was in her mid-forties, with an expertly dyed platinum blonde bob, terrifyingly enormous fake boobs, and lips so plump they had to be as fake as the boobs. He took a nervous step backwards.

Her six-inch high boots brought Bianca almost eye-level with Mike as she stalked toward him and placed the tip of the riding crop underneath his chin, and then just silently scrutinized him, thickly lined eyes moving up and down his form.

“H-hello,” he stuttered. “I, uh. Ha ha. I’m Mike. And you’re….” He swallowed thickly as sweat dampened his back and armpits. “You’re…um. Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. Porter?”

And just like that, her shoulders slumped and she tossed the crop angrily to the floor. “Jesus Horatio Christ,” she said, voice shrill and exasperated. “ _You’re_ the legendary Jackpot Paulie’s been going on about all these years?” She poked a finger at his shoulder, causing him to stumble back a step. “You’re just a kid. Are you even legal? Is some guy from _Dateline NBC_ about to burst through that door and shove a camera in my face?” She retreated to the bed, moving less gracefully in her heels now, and sat heavily, plump lower lip sticking out and beginning to quiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments and kudos on the previous chapter! And, as always, thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a fan of spoilers, but if you are a person who has concerns about triggers, kindly skip to the end notes to view the WARNING.

“ _You’re_ the legendary Jackpot Paulie’s been going on about all these years?” Bianca Porter poked a finger at Mike's shoulder, causing him to stumble back a step. “You’re just a kid. Are you even legal? Is some guy from _Dateline NBC_ about to burst through that door and shove a camera in my face?” She retreated to the bed, moving less gracefully in her heels now, and sat heavily, plump lower lip sticking out and beginning to quiver.

“No, no,” Mike rushed to reassure her. He moved to the bed, hands hovering over her, but reluctant to touch. _So...much...lady-flesh._ “I swear, I’m twenty-five. I just…it’s probably the lighting in here that makes me look younger.”

“Hmph.” She looked up at him with damp hazel eyes. “So you were only pretending to be a nervous little virgin? Like putting on an act or something?”

“Oh no, I was legitimately terrified.”

This seemed to mollify her somewhat. She sniffed noisily and gave him a pinched smile. “You’re not just saying that?”

He hesitated, debating, and then sat carefully next to her on the bed, touching her shoulder tentatively, in what he hoped would be interpreted by her as a gesture of comfort. “I'm telling you, when I walked through that door, you looked magnificent. Majestic, even.”

“And intimidating?”

“Very much so.”

She batted playfully at his shoulder. “Aww, thanks. It’s Mike, right?”

He smiled at her. “There you go. Maybe introductions first, get to know each a little.”

“Then you’d be up for….?” She gestured behind them at the cuffs and strap-on.

“N-no..”

Her face fell once more.

“But, look, Bianca, that’s just me. And to be fair, I did tell Paul that I wasn’t up for… _that_. You didn't do anything wrong. You're just barking up the wrong tree here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you just call me a dog?"

He gave her a reproachful head tilt. "No. I would never."

“Hm.” Her mouth twisted, and resentment still showed clearly on her face. “It's not that I ever expected you to be Scott Baio hot, you know."

"Who?"

"And you're cute and all. But Paulie could have at least warned me he was bringing me home some faggy little twink.”

Suddenly all too conscious of Bianca’s nearly naked form pressed against his side, Mike lowered his arm and stood up, backing away a few steps. “Hey, there's no need for that. I am not a twink....Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

She shrugged, setting off a distracting series of fleshy sine waves across her bosom. “If you say so.”

“I do. But let’s not get too bogged down in bad beginnings. This doesn't all have to be a complete disaster. We can still have fun this weekend, right?”

She groaned as if in pain, and all but stamped her foot. “I need to get laid. Oh my god, you have no idea. It is soooo boring here.”

“Ahhh….Okay. I may not be the man of your dreams, that’s clear enough, but I’m a resourceful guy. I bet if we went out for dedicated trolling tomorrow night – or I guess that would be tonight, wouldn't it? – I could help you find a nice guy.”

“ _Nice_?” She spoke the word as if it was a curse.

“Or…suitable to….” He waved a hand at her toys. “With the whip and the….” He had to fight down a surge of nausea at the disturbing vision that rose up of her using those toys on him. His palms had gone damp and his heart rate was accelerating, and not in a good way.  

She looked both suspicious and hopeful. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Sure. Gotta live up to the hype somehow, right?"

Her look became cagey. "I don't know, Mike. Promises were made to me. This isn't what Paulie got you for."

Mike couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he remained quiet.

"If you could find a better substitute, though...."

"I would try really, really hard," he swore to her, one hand over his heart.

"Oh, you will. You'd better."

"Or....?"

She gave him an evil grin. "Or I get you just the way I wanted in the first place." To drive her point home, she picked up the strap-on by the insertable part and shook it at him in a vaguely menacing fashion. "That's right. You get me the guy I want, or your twinky little ass is mine."

He gave a cartoon-loud gulp at this turn of events. "First of all, put that thing away before you put someone's eye out. And secondly...." _Secondly, how much did he actually need his job again?_ At that moment, he couldn't remember. "Stop it with the threats. I'll find you a guy, no problem. Not because I'm afraid of you." Which was a lie. "But because I am a reasonable person." _Who doesn't want to get his ass reamed with your crazy penis envy contraption._

"Yeah, yeah. Blah blah blah. Men are all talk, and you are boring me so much right now. I guess we'll just have to wait and see about your man-luring skills." She gave a huge, theatrical yawn. "Now get out of my bedroom. This whole thing has been a huge letdown, and I'm gonna need some quality time with Bob before I start feeling better."

"You.... _Who_?" Even though he was positive that there was no one else in the room, Mike glanced around anyway. “Bob?”

With a smug look, she stood up and walked the few steps to the nightstand, and Mike did his best not to look directly at her pale, jiggling bottom. _Needs more squats and lunges_ he assessed automatically, and immediately felt ashamed of himself for being so judgmental.

Bianca held up a cylindrical object. “Battery Operated Boyfriend,” she clarified. “B.O.B. Oh, and the guest room is two doors down. Buy if you get lonely, B.O.B. swings both ways.” She laughed at her own joke.

Mike was beginning to suspect that more than a Jackpot, or a date, or a bar pickup, what Bianca really needed was a marriage counsellor, or a good divorce lawyer. Or maybe just a highly qualified therapist looking to put a few kids through college. _Not my business_ , he concluded, and let himself out of the room.

A few minutes later, as he struggled to get comfortable on the too soft mattress in the guest bedroom, he heard a faint whirr start up that had him hastily jamming a pillow over his ear, and leaving it there for what seemed like a disturbingly long time.

 

With Trevor out of the picture, at least for the foreseeable future, Mike had assumed his wingman days were over. Not so, it turned out, as he accompanied the voluptuous Bianca Porter on Saturday night to _McDelfie's_ , a karaoke bar in a strip mall a few exits up the interstate from Harrison.

Mike had tried to talk Bianca into someplace more familiar and comfortable -- to Mike -- but Bianca had insisted that this was The Place, and the new bartender at _McDelfie's_ , Ted, was The Guy. She'd been lusting over him for months, but he'd somehow resisted her Siren Song. When she got up on stage to perform her first number, Mike began to understand why.

She wasn't a horrible singer, exactly. There were several _McDelfie's_ regulars who out-sucked her by a mile or more. It was just that for someone with her blonde bombshell looks, she possessed zero stage presence. She stood stiff and straight as a telephone pole -- if that telephone pole had a set of forty double D's and a plump, round, Spanx-wrangled ass stuffed into a pair of skintight jeggings.

As the words to "Sweet Caroline" appeared on the monitor in front of her, she kept her gaze glued steadfastly to the screen, and clutched her microphone with both hands, as if she was afraid that someone might try to grab it away from her. And to be fair, at a place like _McDelfie's_ , that was a very real possibility.

From his perch at the corner of the L-shaped bar, Mike tossed back vodka tonics and scanned the crowd, spotting any number of guys who seemed interested in Bianca...well, in her tits, at least. Even Mike could see that they were something special, and were displayed to their best effect in a neon pink tank top that dipped low and allowed for copious spillage. He was ninety-nine percent certain that she wasn't wearing a bra. _Bravo, silicone,_ he silently applauded.

In contrast to the boozy patrons hooting at Bianca’s hooters, Ted the bartender exhibited only indifference toward Mrs. Porter. This situation could not be allowed to continue. The next time Ted swung by to see if he needed a refill, dragging a noxious cloud of _Drakkar Noir_ along with him, Mike began his desperate campaign.

He grinned and nodded at the stage. "She's something, huh?"

Just then the mostly inebriated crowd suddenly woke up and screamed in unison, "So good, so good, so good!" and Mike gave a nervous twitch. This was the third time the chorus of the song had come around, and he should have been ready for the bizarre call and response which was apparently karaoke tradition for "Sweet Caroline," but this time he nearly spilled his drink in his crotch.

Ted gave a deep laugh, accompanied by a sneer. "Yeah, she's something alright. Something to avoid like the plague."

"What? You're not into the...." Mike made cupping motions with his hands about a foot in front of his chest. "...the, er, bazongas?" This could explain Bianca's continuing inability to lure Ted home with her. She really didn't have much else going for her.

"You are?" Ted's skepticism had a snide ring to it that Mike didn't care for, but chose to ignore.

"Um. She sings nice." Mike cringed inside at the obvious lie, and forged ahead. "Did you hear that just then? She was almost on key that time."

Ted leaned against his side of the bar, arms crossed as he regarded Mike. He was a blandly handsome man, tall and discreetly muscular, with dark, spiky hair. He'd make a good Ken to Bianca's Barbie.

"You a friend of hers or something?" Ted asked, like he was trying to figure out Mike's angle.

Mike hemmed and hawed, finally tilting one hand back and forth. "More like...friend adjacent," he allowed. "So why haven't you been all up in that...you know... _business_ , yet?" Imagination running a little too wild, Mike had a sudden, vivid mind-picture of Ted motor-boating the hell out of Bianca. He made a mental note to check out some hetero porn one of these days, for Science.

Ted's face took on a sour expression as he used his thick fingers to tick off his reasons for eschewing Bianca's advances. "Too blonde. Too old. Too fake. Drinks too much. Flirts too much. But mainly, too married. Married chicks are the worst."

_Ah ha._ Mike nodded sagely. "And what if I told you that was only a temporary situation?" He may have been overstating things, but desperate times and all that.

"Husband kicking her to the curb? Yeah, I can see that."

Someone down the bar drew Ted's attention, and he moved away. Meanwhile, Bianca's performance came to a close. Impassioned clapping and animal howls followed her off the stage.

"Next up," enthused the karaoke host, "for the first time tonight, we have Mike!"

Soft arms wrapped around Mike's chest, and Bianca's boobs mauled his shoulder blades. He leaned forward, but there was no escape. "I put a song in for you," she breathed in his ear.

"In the name of all that is good and decent, _why_?"

"Mike?" The host sounded impatient. "Don't keep us in suspense here. We've got a long rotation tonight, and everyone's waiting their turn. Mike? Mike going once...going twice...."

Bianca backed up, grabbed Mike by the bicep and dragged him bodily from his stool. "Here he is," she called.

Mike dug his heels in, but Bianca turned out to be surprisingly strong, and before you could say "Build Me Up Buttercup," he found himself standing in front of the monitor, microphone in hand, frowning in confusion at the title of the song on the screen: "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Did he even know this song?

The music started, and the words appeared, and he realized that he did know the song, even though it was years before his time. He'd forgotten to start singing, and now hurried to catch up. "Every now and then I get a little bit lonely -- "

"Holy shit!" came a shrill voice in the crowd. "That's my song. He's singing my song!"

Mike froze, not sure what was happening. A woman charged the stage, and he gathered that he hadn't been killing her softly with the song, but that she had wanted to sing it herself.

"Judy," the host’s voice hissed over the music, "not cool. Get off the stage."

Mike hadn't wanted to sing in the first place, but when Judy made a grab for the microphone, something wild and rebellious clicked over in his brain. He backed up and emoted meanly at her, "Every now and then I get a little bit nervous -- hey!" He held the microphone out of her reach, did a head fake, and slid away from her. "Every now and then I get a little bit terri-- _oof_."

Judy elbowed him in the side and pried the microphone from his lax grip. "Every now and then I fall apart," she warbled triumphantly. "Turn around, bright eyes!"

Mike could see the host approaching in the corner of his vision, but he was too pissed off to wait for reinforcements. He pointed a shaking finger at Judy. "Give me the fucking mic."

"Every now and then I get a little bit angry," she snarled at him.

He lunged at her and managed to get one hand on the prize. They grappled for long seconds until finally Mike gained the upper hand. He gave the microphone one last good yank at the same time that Judy let go. She stumbled backwards and dropped to the floor like a rock. The host veered and went to bend over her.

Meanwhile, the music had advanced, swelling toward a chorus that put the "pow!" in "power ballad." Or maybe just the "ow."

"And I need you now tonight..."

That's as far as he got. From somewhere in his blind spot, a clenched fist suddenly appeared, sailing toward his right eye like a heat seeking missile. A second fist blasted his nose, and he flew backwards into a Budweiser poster taped to the wall. He slid to the floor and held up his hands to protect his face. His attacker loomed over him, and even through one eye, Mike could discern that he'd never seen the man before in his life.

"What the fuck, dude?" he said, and tasted blood. He wiped a hand underneath his nose, and it came away garishly red.

"You attacked my girlfriend," growled the man. “Now I'm gonna stomp your pansy ass."

_Oh. Well, that explained that._

 

Things worked themselves out, as they usually did in such drunken altercations, and Mike managed to walk away un-stomped. Okay, slightly stomped.

From the bar, Ted loudly threatened to call the cops. The drunk boyfriend's drunk friends rushed in to hold him back from Mike. Drunk Judy got a little weepy, but her posse of drunk girlfriends escorted her to the ladies room to talk some sense into her.

The host, who billed himself as the Fabulous Frankie Z (although Mike failed to see what was so fabulous about him) offered to start Mike's song over from the beginning.

"Doe tanks," he declined, through the wad of tissues Bianca had handed him to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. "I'b dud."

Frankie shrugged and returned to his post to, "Get this party started!"

Mike limped back to the bar with Bianca. He took the tissues from his nose to plead, "Can we go now?"

She gave Ted a sidewise look. "What about...you know?" She jerked her head in the bartender's direction. Real subtle.

His nose had stopped bleeding, so Mike tossed the tissues in the nearest trash receptacle. "I don't know...."

"Don't forget, we had a deal."

Mike's ass actually twitched at the menace in her voice. He sighed. "Fine. Just...." He made a shooing gesture at her. "Give me some room to work."

"Tick tock," was her parting shot as she went back to rejoin the bacchanalia.

Ted appeared with another vodka tonic for Mike. Bless the man for that, because he did make strong drinks.

"I can still get the cops in here," said Ted, "if you want to file a complaint."

"Naw. All's fair in love and karaoke, right?

"Whatever."

Ted wandered off again, leaving Mike to stew about how to crack this tough nut. Maybe the direct approach was best, he decided. He slurped down his drink and signaled for another. When Ted set it down in front of him, he gave Mike a dubious look.

"You might want to slow down a little."

Mike waved away his concern, and then crooked his finger until Ted came closer, leaning his burly arms on the bar top so he could hear Mike.

"So tell me, Ted, what are your thoughts on ass play?"

Blank silence. Then, "Excuse me?"

"I'm not talking about anything tentative, either. No gentle probing finger. Just some down and dirty pounding." Mike slammed his palm against the bar several times to make his point. He may have been a little drunk by then. "Just raw, relentless, punishment. With whipping and...." He paused a moment to think. "Oh, and we can't forget the handcuffs. Just the right amount of kinky. You see what I'm getting at?"

He definitely had Ted's interest now. "Punishment, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." He gave Ted a knowing nod. "You could go for that, right?"

A slow, dirty smile lit the bartender's face. "Sure could."

Mike hid his relief. "Then tell me, what time do you get off? Off work, that is."

"Shift change is at midnight."

"So...it's a date?"

Ted straightened and pointed both index fingers at Mike as he backed away, still grinning. Mike rolled his eyes. _What a tool_. Ted and Bianca deserved one another.

Mike went to find the lucky gal to give her the happy news.

 

Probably neither Mike nor Bianca should have driven home. Both of them were appallingly drunk by the time Ted had closed out his till, counted his tips and was ready to roll. If Ted had been a gentleman, he might have offered to drive them both, but he wasn't, and he didn't. Mike finally managed to wrestle the keys away from Bianca, not because he felt the least bit sober, but because he trusted himself more to get them safely back to the Porters' house. He was stumped briefly, since he had no clue how to get there, but after some judicious squinting, he finally figured out to key in “Return Trip” on the car’s Navigator.

After a drive which was mostly a blur, he pulled into the garage, Ted parked his enormous pick-up truck in the driveway, and then they all convened in the foyer. Bianca was stumbling and swaying, and starting to look dangerously green around the gills. Part of Mike had to wonder about logistics at this point. Would Bianca be too hammered to perform her dominating duties? He decided that he didn't care. He'd done his part, and the rest was up to the two of them.

With a slurred, "She's all yours, pal," he exited stage left, pin-balled his way to the guest room, peeled off everything except his underpants, and fell face first onto the mattress. Sleep called, and he answered with enthusiasm.

 

The next thing Mike was aware of was a heavy body pinning him to the mattress.

"What?" he asked, confused. The scent of _Drakkar Noir_ assaulted his nose and stung his eyes. "Ted? What the fu -- " He was prevented from saying more by the large hand covering his mouth. "Mmph?" he queried.

"Time for your punishment," Ted growled in his ear. "And man, do you deserve it, after leaving me to hold Bianca's hair back while she puked her guts out." He dragged Mike's underpants down to his knees and slapped his ass hard. One thick finger poked at Mike's entrance. "No gentle probing for you, naughty boy," he rasped, and shoved his finger in.

Mike may still have been extremely drunk, but even in his condition, he knew bad touch when he felt it. He yelled against Ted's moist palm, and bucked up, trying to get away from the ungentle probing going on. He received two hard, tailbone-jarring swats on the ass for his trouble. When he didn't stop squirming, Ted smacked the back of his head three times, making his vision swim.

"Oh, aren't you a bad boy," Ted whispered hotly.

Mike heard the unmistakable sounds of a zipper being lowered. Panic sent a shot of adrenaline surging through him, helping to sober him up a little. Both of Ted's hand were busy now, getting his cock into position.

With his mouth free, Mike said clearly, "Stop. I mean it. This is a mistake. A misunderstanding."

"I understand completely," said Ted, sounding distracted and breathing hard. "I know just what you need. Now hold still so I can give it to you."

Mike had been struggling wildly, which hadn't worked, so now he changed tactics, going completely limp, and then trying to roll out from under the other man. He should have remembered that unlike him, Ted was completely sober. Even if Mike had been sober as well, he probably would have been no match for Ted's greater strength.

One muscled arm snaked around Mike's middle holding him in place, while Ted used his other hand to corral first one, and then the other of Mike's arms behind his back. The sound and feel of cuffs snapping into place shocked Mike into stillness.

"Ted. Please. I don't want this."

Mean laughter tickled the back of his neck. "That's not what you told me at the bar."

The blunt head of his cock nudged Mike's entrance, breaching him slightly. Mike winced. No lube. No condom. This was going to be bad.

"Please don't," Mike whispered without hope. “Oh, God.”

The overhead light came on and both of their heads turned to the open door.

Bianca screeched and ran at them. "You dirty fuckers." She lifted the table lamp and bashed it down on Ted's shoulders. "Get out of my house. You're disgusting."

Ted jumped up and began hopping around, struggling to get back into his jeans. "You're both fucking crazy," he muttered, fending off Bianca's flailing arms. She got in a good slap to his face, and in apparent exasperation he shoved her down onto the bed and made his escape.

It wouldn't be proper melodrama, of course, without some parting words. At the door to the bedroom, Ted paused and turned to glare at both of them. "You're eighty-sixed out of _McDelfie's_. Both of you." He held up a finger for emphasis and added, one eyebrow lifting in a demonic flourish, "For life."

And then he was gone.

Mike sagged in utter relief, turning his face from side to side against the mattress to wipe away his tears. Next to him, Bianca seemed to be in shock. She sat stock still, staring at the far wall. Perhaps a minute passed, and then they heard the sound of Ted's truck starting, and accelerating into the night.

This seemed to break Bianca out of her stupor. She slowly got to her feet, and although Mike didn't turn to look at her, he could almost feel the heat of her gaze on him. When she spoke, her voice was low and deadly.

"Get. Out."

Now he did turn to look at her, struggling for a few moments against the cuffs and maneuvering himself into a sitting position. It wasn’t easy, with his underpants still tangled around his knees.

"I said, get out. That was a real shitty trick you played there. You better believe Paulie's gonna hear about this."

That was too much. "Paulie? Your dear, devoted husband? The one who adores you so completely that he'd rather spend time with his mistress than come home to you? I may not know much about what constitutes wedded bliss, lady, but I think I can spot a shit marriage when I see one."

She slapped his face. "You better shut your mouth about my marriage. You don't know anything."

He considered a biting comeback, but suddenly realized he was too fucking tired for this. He could barely process what had just happened to him -- what had _almost_ happened, he reminded himself -- and he didn't think he could handle the no-holds barred screaming match which seemed to be in the offing. Plus, he was in a distressingly vulnerable position at the moment.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Please tell me you have the key to these cuffs."

"Maybe I do, but so what? Maybe I'll toss you out on your ass just the way you are. What do you think about that?"

He didn't doubt that she would do it. He shivered at the thought of it. "I don’t think you really want to do that. Besides, you'll only get your husband in more trouble if you do."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm the Jackpot," he explained wearily. "If I'm damaged, your husband is penalized."

"Penalized how?"

"Suspended from the game. Or kicked out."

She thought about that for a minute. "What about what happened to you at the bar? Getting punched out by Judy's boyfriend and all? Does that count?"

"Probably."

"Good. Serves him right."

She swayed in place for a few seconds before abruptly leaving the room, and Mike was left to wonder what the hell she was up to now. He prayed she wouldn't come back wearing the strap-on.

While he was alone, he managed to get his underpants back on. He tested the strength of the cuffs, but they weren't coming off without a key.

Finally, he heard Bianca staggering back down the hall, muttering drunkenly to herself, and he tensed up. She entered the room holding a small key in one hand and a .38 revolver in the other.

Mike stood slowly, heart beginning a terrified thudding. "Um. What are you doing?"

She seemed to be having difficulty focusing on him, and when she spoke, her words slurred badly. "Making sure my husband gets kicked out of that goddamn game." She raised the revolver and pointed it at his knee. "Now hold still and take it like a man."

Mike didn't think, just reacted. He charged straight at Bianca, one shoulder lowered, and rammed into her chest. The gun went off, and he could almost feel the bullet scorch his leg as it zinged past. She swung her arm up and the gun boomed just inches from his ear. He didn't let up, stubbornly bearing down on Bianca until she toppled onto her back. She hit the ground hard, the gun fell from her hand, and she lay unmoving.

Mike experienced a few worried moments as he checked her over for gunshot wounds, or a possible concussion from where her head hit the floor. When she let out a snuffling snore and curled up on her side, he let out a relieved breath.

He kicked the gun gingerly out of reach and took a moment to catch his breath, keeping a wary eye on Bianca. When his shaking had subsided a little, he was gripped by an intense need to get the fuck out of there _now._

The first thing he had to do was find the key to the cuffs. Luckily, when Bianca had dropped it, it hadn’t gone far, and he spotted it near one of her feet. It was no easy task to work the lock with his hands behind his back, and with nervous tremors still running through him, but he finally managed it. Tossing the cuffs aside, he dressed in record time, grabbed his messenger bag, phone and wallet, and let himself out into a bitingly cold November night.

According to his phone it was one forty-five. He had twelve dollars in his wallet. With no clear idea of where he was in relation to any main roads or a train station, he began to walk, taking long strides and putting as much distance between himself and Bianca Porter as he could.

After five minutes, reaction set in and he was forced to stop and vomit twice onto a neatly mowed front lawn. A dog began barking behind a fence, the sound partially muffled by the persistent ringing in his left ear. He wiped his mouth and resumed walking.

The cold air, the puking, and the exercise all worked together to sober him up, and he was finally thinking clearly enough to pull out his phone and try to figure out where he was. Unfortunately, having an eidetic memory did not translate into possessing a good sense of direction.

Some frantic Googling eventually revealed that he was too far from the closest train station to walk there. He was currently stuck deep inside the dark heart of suburbia, lost within its maze-like streets, and without enough money for cab fare home. What he needed was a ride.

His first instinct was to call Trevor, but even as he started to dial, he thought better of it. How would he explain to him what he was doing out here? Lisa was out of the question, for much the same reasons. In fact, with that non-disclosure agreement hanging over his head, his only real option was to contact one of the poker players and drag them out here.

He called Vanessa first, but the call went straight to voice mail. He didn’t have Harvey’s cell phone number, but he went ahead and dialed his direct line at Pearson Specter, figuring he had nothing to lose. And apparently a big shot attorney must be reachable at any time, day or night, because Harvey had his work number forwarded to his cell phone, and he picked up on the third ring, sounding polite, but on edge.

“Hello?”

Mike hesitated. He hadn’t thought he would actually be speaking to the great man himself, and hadn’t given any thought to what he should say. When a couple of seconds had ticked past and he hadn’t spoken, Harvey’s voice grew impatient.

“Who the hell is this?”

“It’s me,” Mike said hurriedly. “I mean, it’s Mike. Mike Ross.”

It was Harvey’s turn to fall momentarily silent. Then, “What happened?” he asked carefully.

“I’m stranded in Harrison. Paul’s wife turned out to be…not good. Could you please come and get me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific if you expect me to drive all the way up there.”

“Things…transpired, and...and….” He didn’t want to get into it over the phone, so he finished weakly, “She forced me to s-sing karaoke!”

“And? What things? What aren’t you telling me?”

Mike stared up at the dark sky, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. “Let’s see. I got punched out. _Again_. Bianca threatened to, er, violate me. Um. A g-gun was pulled. And did I m-mention the karaoke?” No way was he telling Harvey about Ted.

Harvey’s long, drawn out sigh whispered against his ear. “Christ, you’re an absolute magnet for trouble, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I g-guess s-so.” He realized he was shivering. The temperature had dropped considerably, and he’d left his jacket at home. “It’s r-really c-cold here,” he admitted.

He could almost picture Harvey rubbing away at that line of tension between his eyebrows.

“Tell me where you are. Exactly.”

Mike craned his neck up to read a nearby street sign, searched around for a house with numbers visible on it, and relayed the information to Harvey. “Will you be able to – ”

“It’s called GPS, Mike. I’ll find you. Just stay right where you are. Try not to get mugged or eaten by wolves in the meantime.”

“R-roger that. Thanks, Harvey.”

When there was no reply, he realized Harvey had hung up on him. He lowered himself to the curb, wrapped his arms around his knees and hoped no muggers or murderers or unhinged neighborhood watchers found him before Harvey did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: An attempted rape occurs in this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for the nice comments and the kudos on the previous chapter. I've said it before, but you're all wonderful, beautiful people. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

As the minutes dragged by while Mike waited for rescue to arrive, he rocked and shivered, and wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the nights' events that had him shaking so badly. His re-blackened eye ached, his nose throbbed and felt raw, and although the ringing in his ear had subsided, the world retained a muffled quality on his left side which had him worried. He hadn't suffered any permanent hearing loss, had he?

Although he had plenty of options to choose from to worry and stew about, thoughts of Ted kept trying to get the upper hand. The incident had shocked and frightened him, no doubt about that, but now, with time to think about it, he was forced to admit that he had partially brought it on himself. He cringed as he replayed his conversation with Ted at the bar.

"What are your thoughts on ass play?" he whispered out loud to the dark street, voice incredulous. Had he really said that? And everything that followed.... _Gah_. From Ted's viewpoint, Mike had practically served himself up on a platter. _So...fucking...stupid._

To combat these pointless, torturous thoughts, he employed an old trick. He started off by picturing his bookshelf at home. Mentally selecting a book at random, he opened it to page one and began silently reciting the words, displaying them in his mind’s eye, and broadcasting them at high volume through his brain to keep reaction at bay.

Mike had nearly _War and Peace_ ’d himself into a trance by the time headlights lit up the wispy ground fog that had formed around him. He stood up, anxiously peering at the driver’s side, but was unable to see anything through the car’s darkly tinted windows. He took a few steps backwards onto someone’s lawn, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Then the passenger door opened, the interior light came on, and he could see Harvey leaning across the seat to get a look at him.

“Mike? Get in.”

_Angry? Worried? Amused?_ Mike couldn't have said. Considering Harvey's impeccable poker face, it was a wonder that he didn't win the jackpot more often.

Regardless of Harvey's mood, Mike didn’t need to be asked twice. He gratefully eased himself into the low slung sports car, eyes almost rolling back in his head in ecstasy at the feel of the heated leather seat underneath his chilly bottom. Without comment, Harvey turned up the temperature.

The bluesy jazz Harvey had playing, and the crisp female voice on the car's GPS system were the only sounds in the car for a few minutes as Harvey followed the disembodied voice's directions back to the interstate. When they had merged into the light traffic heading south, Harvey finally said, “Tell me everything.”

That is what Mike thought he said, anyway, based on the sound waves that made it past Mike's left, currently malfunctioning ear, to his right ear.

Mike shifted slightly in his seat so he could hear better, opened his mouth, and then shut it again. A bubble of resentment had begun forming inside his chest. At Harvey’s words, in the space of a few heartbeats, resentment built into rage, and now it burst out of him with no warning. “Tell you everything? Like you care? This is all your fault. You’re the one who roped me into this whole freak show rodeo. At this rate, I’m starting to think I might not survive the eight months.”

“Mike….”

“No. You don’t get to sit there and be all exasperated at me. I’m the wronged party here. I don’t appreciate all of your goddamn brooding mystery, and I can’t believe you just expect me to open up to you, to tell you everything for your personal amusement, like some…some… freaking _Scheherazade_ or something!”

A brief silence, and then what sounded like genuine laughter burst out of Harvey. “Calm down, Mike.” He continued chuckling for a few more seconds. “Okay, first of all, nice call on the Scheherazade reference. And secondly, what the hell are you even talking about? What mystery?”

It was a struggle not to smile back at Harvey, but Mike was still angry enough that he managed it. “My god, where do I even start? You won’t tell me what you plan to do with me if you ever win me. You keep throwing new conditions and rules at me every time I turn around. And then you go and get involved in some kind of private blood feud with your assistant that results in me being delivered to that over-sexed psychopath for the weekend. And that’s only month two out of eight months. God only knows what fresh hell next month will bring.”

Harvey didn’t answer him right away, and that only made Mike angrier.

“Well?" Mike prompted. "Nothing to say?"

Harvey accelerated past a slow moving semi-truck. "This isn't for my own amusement. I've already explained to you that I have certain responsibilities where you're concerned. If Bianca Porter is the psychopath you claim she is, what do you think she's going to have to say about what went down tonight? I can only protect you if I know the truth. The entire truth."

Mike mulled that over, muttering ill-naturedly, "You can’t handle the truth," and then had to clamp down even harder on his urge to smile when he heard Harvey's soft laughter. Harvey did have a point, though. Crazy Bianca would probably try to turn everything around on Mike. Still, he wasn't prepared to concede quite yet.

"Fine. I'll give you the full, unabridged version of everything that happened tonight," Mike said, "but first you have to answer one question."

Harvey cast a sidewise glance at Mike, and then returned his attention to the road. "Ask away."

"What were you and Donna fighting about?"

"Mike...."

"It's a simple, straightforward question. Why would you have a problem with it? Or maybe what I should be asking is, what did you do to Donna to get her so angry at you? Is that closer to the mark?"

In the shadowy interior of the car, it was difficult to make out Harvey's expression, but as passing headlights played briefly over him in succession, Mike saw his jaw tense, and wondered if he'd pushed him too far. Although, what was the big deal, really? It couldn't be any more embarrassing than Mike's tale of woe. He had opened his mouth to point that out when Harvey started speaking again.

"First of all, it's complicated.”

“Every good story is.”

“Stop interrupting. Donna and I have known one another for almost ten years. We've watched each other's significant others come and go during those years, and shared more secrets than are probably healthy."

"Did you ever...you know...with her?" Mike made a vaguely obscene gesture with his hands.

"Mind your business."

_So, probably a yes._

Harvey sighed, and seemed to be mentally debating whether or not to continue. "My point, Nosy, is that we've grown comfortable critiquing one another's choices. Perhaps too comfortable. Donna is not best pleased with my latest… fixation. And before you ask who that is, _don’t_. Just suffice it to say that when Donna is not best pleased, no one gets away unscathed.”

Mike didn’t dare to ask the identity of this ”fixation,” but he did dare to hope, at least a little bit. If it was Mike, then he had another bone to pick with Donna. If it was him. Which it probably wasn’t, because Mike and Harvey? Together? It was an intriguing enough fantasy, but how would that even work?

He waited for Harvey to say more on the subject. When he didn’t, Mike asked, “And that’s what the whole poisonous atmosphere was all about Friday night?”

Harvey’s mouth pinched together and worked back and forth a few times. “No. There’s more. Donna has been seeing someone for a while – behind my back, by the way, so she’s not entirely blameless. It was revealed to me Friday morning that this someone is opposing counsel in a case that’s one bad negotiation session away from going to trial. Worse, this revelation came mid-deposition when the man in question tossed their relationship in my face as a tactic to throw me off my game.”

“Did he?”

“What?”

“Throw you off your game?”

Harvey shot a quick glare in Mike’s direction. “Of course not. But when I got back to my office, I communicated my displeasure to Donna, perhaps more strongly than was necessary. Ultimatums may have been voiced.”

“Curses may have been cursed?”

“Exactly.”

“I see. And how did that go over?”

“About like it always does with her. I expect my American Express card to take a major hit on Monday.”

“Wow,” was all Mike could think to say in response.

They were both silent for the next few miles, while James Carr crooned softly in the background, that _These Ain’t Raindrops_.

“It seems to me,” Mike said, after he had thought it over, “that Donna was kind of in the wrong here. I mean, opposing counsel? Isn’t that a huge conflict of interest?”

“I know, right? It wasn't her best moment, or mine, for that matter. It didn't help that in this case, I suspect the man in question went after her specifically to get to me. Don't try telling her that, though. She just does this… _Donna_ thing, and I end up feeling like the bad guy every goddamn time.”

“Every time, huh? How often do you go through these twisted little psychodramas?”

Harvey shook his head, and his smile looked reluctant now. “Nice try, kid, but thus the story ends. Now, I showed you mine. Your turn.”

Mike groaned. “If I wasn’t halfway into my hangover from all the earlier drinking, I’d insist on getting shit-faced all over again before I tell you the whole sordid mess.”

"Sordid, huh?" Harvey glanced at his watch, and seemed to weigh a thought. “It’s almost three-thirty. Want to table this for now and pick it up in the morning? You can sleep at my place tonight.”

A week ago, Mike would have been highly agreeable to the offer. Now, he tensed up, suddenly suspicious. “Why?” he asked, more sharply than he intended.

Harvey gave him a quick, surprised glance. “Because it’s late, we still have things to discuss, and I sure as hell am not spending the night in Brooklyn.” He must have seen something in Mike’s expression, because he softened his tone. “I’m offering you the guest bedroom, Mike. That’s all.”

Mike knew he should be grateful for that. He _was_ grateful. But part of him also felt vaguely and perversely insulted. Did Harvey really not want him? How was it possible for him not to feel the same attraction that Mike did? It was there, all the time, strong and persistent and almost tangible, increasing in direct proportion to their proximity to one another.

Mike stuffed his disappointment down with all of the other feelings he didn’t want to deal with, and realized that Harvey was waiting for an answer.

“Okay. Fine. Now that you mention it, I am about ready to pass out.”

“Good,” said Harvey, and took the next exit.

 

"This is nice," Mike said politely as he looked around Harvey's condo. It wasn't exactly his style, being, in his opinion, too sleek and modern and... _pre-meditated._ He preferred comfortable and lived in and intensely personal himself. But the view couldn't be beat. He walked to the living room window and gazed down on the city. "Holy cats. You must feel like the master of your domain up here."

Harvey paused in the act of pouring himself a glass of scotch over ice, and gave a grunt which might have been a laugh. "Some days more than others," he said enigmatically. He held up the bottle. "Sure you don't want any?"

Mike grimaced. "I'll pass, thanks."

Harvey walked over, drink in hand, to stand side by side with Mike. "It is a nice view," he allowed. "It's what really sold me on the place. That, plus the private elevator."

"That was a bit much," Mike lied. It had actually been pretty cool.

Harvey hummed and sipped his scotch. "Sometimes, though....you can start to feel a little removed from things up here." He gestured around them. "All this...stuff. And then there comes that morning when you look in the mirror and don't even recognize yourself."

"That's been happening a lot with me lately," Mike said, a little sourly. "Although I think that's got a lot to do with all the black eyes."

Harvey turned to him then and surprised him by edging closer and touching a finger gently to Mike's swollen cheekbone. His finger was damp and cool from his glass. Mike shivered and pulled away, unease whispering inside him.

"You should put some ice on that," Harvey said.

"I --” Mike wasn't sure what he'd meant to say, but he was caught by a yawn just then, and a wave of exhaustion threatened to swamp him. "I think I'd rather get some sleep. I'm about ready to crash."

Harvey nodded, his expression closed off again. "The guest room is the first door on the left. I'll leave you some towels in the bathroom for the morning. If you're up before me, help yourself to coffee, breakfast, whatever you need."

Mike could feel Harvey's eyes like a weight on him as he turned and left the room. He detoured first to the bathroom to relieve himself and rinse out his mouth, using some mouthwash to help banish the taste of vomit, and then found the guest room. He tossed his messenger bag on the floor, started to undress, reconsidered, and went back to lock the door. In the end, he left his clothes on, only removing his shoes and unfastening his jeans. He left the lights on.

Even though he was dead tired, sleep was slow in coming. His nerves jittered and jumped, completely out of his control, as if he'd consumed too much caffeine. The events of the night seemed now like a hallucinatory fever dream. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Ted again, his suffocating weight holding him down, his thick cock forcing its way in. Or he heard the gun going off, once, twice, until he could almost imagine bullets burrowing hotly into his flesh, shredding muscle and shattering bone.

It was perhaps half an hour later, when he’d just begun to relax, that Mike heard the creak of the floor outside his room, and he tensed up all over again. The footsteps – Harvey, definitely Harvey, because who else could it be, Stupid? – moved past and into the room next door. Mike listened to the muffled, muted sounds of Harvey getting ready for bed, imagining him shedding his clothes, and then maybe putting on a pair of ugly, striped pajamas, and sliding under the covers, between cool sheets, sighing softly as he turned off the light and relaxed into the pillows.

As the condo grew quiet once more, Mike felt his own tension ease. It all seemed so normal and safe here, in stark contrast to the rest of his night. He imagined Harvey’s slow, even breathing, and synced his own breaths to that illusory rhythm, in and out, slower and slower, until he slipped finally into dreamless sleep.

 

It was only nine o’clock when Mike woke up, but it seemed like he’d slept longer. He got up and poked his head outside the bedroom door. No sounds. No enticing aroma of brewed coffee. Harvey must still be sleeping.

With a shivery thrill of danger, he thought of grabbing his things and making a dash for it, delaying the moment when he would need to relate his story to Harvey. Delay, however, was the key word. He couldn’t avoid it forever, and if he didn’t get it over with now, Harvey would certainly track him down at work and….He gave a low groan as he remembered – _work_. What would his co-workers make of his latest injuries? No, Monday would be difficult enough without having to spill his guts to Harvey in the workplace.

He’d stay and face the music now, he decided. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so reluctant to talk about it. Maybe he’d grown too accustomed to being alone, to playing his cards close to the vest, and to relying only on himself for everything. Plus, if he spoke aloud of what had happened with Ted, there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t real.

Since Harvey wasn’t up yet, he figured he might as well take a shower. He’d packed a clean t-shirt and briefs in his bag, and he grabbed them now and went across the hall to enjoy as much of Harvey’s hot, steamy, pulsating water as his skin could take.

 

“What’s all this?” asked Harvey, surveying the kitchen in what looked like ill-humored amazement.

“I made pancakes,” said Mike. He began flipping the latest batch, pleased to see that both sides were a lovely golden brown this time, instead of charcoal-colored. “And coffee.”

“And a mess,” Harvey muttered, but he grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee before pulling up a stool to sit at the bar and watch Mike in action. “Are you always this…Disney-ish in the morning?

Mike wiped flour off his nose and then off his arm. “Disney-ish?”

“Yes. I expect a flock of little blue barn swallows to appear any minute, perch on your shoulders and start singing four part harmony with you to ‘Morning Has Broken.’”

“Okay, that’s…really specific.” He set a plate in front of Harvey. “You don’t have any syrup – which I find concerning, by the way – so butter and raspberry jam will have to do.” He poured out four more circles of batter on Harvey’s non-stick griddle, and made a waving motion at Harvey with one hand. “Go on. Eat. I guarantee you’ll feel better. Pancakes are nature’s happiest breakfast.”

Unsmiling, Harvey shook his head. “How you manage to pack so much nonsense into a single sentence confounds me.” He started spreading butter on the stack of pancakes, though, and then spooned out some jam as well.

Mike ignored him, turning his back to watch the pancakes cook and humming a tune under his breath. With some annoyance, he realized the tune was “Morning Has Broken,” and he stopped abruptly.

 

Harvey set down his fork and pushed his plate away. “That was good, Mike. Thanks.”

“You want some more?”

As he wiped a napkin over his mouth, Harvey made a noise that sounded like, “Mphg.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Mike. He pushed his own plate away and looked into the kitchen. “I guess I’d better get this cleaned up.” He nearly jumped off his stool when Harvey grabbed his arm, fingers digging into him with more force than was necessary.

“The kitchen can wait, Mike, and you owe me one story. Don’t you think you’ve stalled long enough?”

“No?”

“Mike….”

He could see that Harvey wouldn’t be put off any longer, so Mike sighed and then launched into a complete re-telling of his night with Bianca Porter. He didn’t leave anything out.

 

“Harvey? Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

They had moved to the living room halfway through Mike’s story, each sitting at one end of Harvey’s couch. Harvey had his elbows on his knees as he stared down at the floor between his feet. Mike sat partly sideways, keeping a close eye on Harvey’s facial expressions, which had run the gamut from amused to incredulous to blisteringly angry. Now his face appeared blank, as if he was thinking deeply about something. This was confirmed when he finally looked over at Mike and spoke.

“You will be pressing charges.”

A complicated mix of emotions seemed to spasm inside of Mike. He felt relieved that Harvey believed such an admittedly outlandish story. He felt grateful for his concern. But overriding all of that, he felt alarm that Harvey wanted him to carry his story outside of this room to share it with more people – specifically, to share it with The Authorities.

“No.” He spoke the words as simply and definitively as he could.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. You’re overreacting. It happened. It’s over. I’m fine. The end.”

“No, Mike. Not the end. You were assaulted, and damn near – ” His jaw clenched so hard it turned white in places. “You were assaulted. You were shot at. That woman might have maimed you for life, or worse.”

He turned his head to look at Mike, his eyes so bleak and troubled that Mike wanted to reach over and give him a reassuring pat. _Yeah, right. A pat. That’s what he wanted to give him._

“Just think about it for a minute, Harvey. If I go to the police and file a complaint, what are they going to ask? Gee, let me think. For starters, what was I doing at Bianca Porter’s house, and how did I get there? What? Her husband drove you there? Why would he do that? So, you’re trying to tell us he won you in a poker game? How interesting, young man. Please, do tell us more.”

Harvey was bitch-facing at him _so hard_ , but that didn’t stop Mike.

“So,” he continued, “there’s _that_ whole conundrum. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about those non-disclosure agreements we all signed. Now let’s talk about Ted.” Harvey’s look of utter distaste pretty well matched the way Mike was feeling from even mentioning the name, but he had a point to prove, so he stuffed his feelings down and plowed onwards, noting peripherally that it was getting crowded down there with all of those unexamined feelings. “That line of questioning might go something like this. Who invited Ted to follow you to the Porter house? What were his expectations? Tells us again, how exactly did that conversation at the bar go?”

“Stop blaming yourself.”

“Why? I may have been drunk, and it may not have been intentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that I enticed him, and gave him reason to believe that certain things would transpire.” He shook his head sadly. “To quote Forrest Gump, ‘I’m not a smart man, Jenny.’ After the cops were done laughing their asses off, they’d probably give Ted the name of a good attorney so that he could sue me for defamation of character.”

When Harvey spoke, his tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “But you _were_ drunk, Mike, and he would have seen that. He, on the other hand, was completely sober. And you told him no, probably more than once, I’m betting.”

_So many times._ Mike swallowed loudly, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “Sure. And Bianca put a halt to everything, so what is my complaint again? An almost really bad date?”

“Mike.” His name came out on a long sigh.

“Bianca was drunk, maybe even drunker than I was. She was an angry, out of control mess of emotions. And here I am. I’m okay. My hearing’s pretty much back to normal. My worst damage of the night came from Judy’s boyfriend, and I can’t very well go after him, since I declined to bring the cops into it last night. So, let’s face facts here. It was an unholy train wreck of a night, but I live to fight another day. No one is blameless here, least of all me.”

A long pause followed, and then Harvey said, almost too softly for Mike to hear, “Or me.”

Mike’s instinct for empathy urged him to deny it, simply to make Harvey feel better, but he realized that he’d already accused Harvey of being at fault last night, so he might doubt his sincerity today. Instead, he asked, “So, we’re agreed? No cops?”

Harvey seemed to hesitate, not liking the answer he was about to give. He gave a sharp nod. “No cops. I want you out of the game, though.”

Mike should have been relieved to hear that, but his immediate reaction to Harvey’s words was a confusing surge of disappointment. “Okay,” he said slowly, “but I signed a contract. I don’t recall any loopholes for getting out ahead of schedule. How is that going to work?”

“I don’t know Mike,” Harvey snapped. “I’ll figure something out.”

Mike wanted to argue some more, although he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe he just liked sparring with Harvey. Just then, though, Harvey’s cell phone chirruped and buzzed on the coffee table. He reached over, snatched it up, and glanced at the screen.

“It’s Paul Porter,” he said.

“Shit,” Mike whispered.

Maintaining eye contact with Mike, Harvey answered the call. “Paul,” he said tersely, “I’ll have to call you back. Yeah. Five minutes.”

He stood up and left the room, leaving Mike alone, his mind swirling with questions. What had Bianca told Paul? What did Paul think? What would Paul do? What would Harvey do?

He was still compiling a list when Harvey returned, wallet in hand. He thrust a wad of bills in Mike’s direction.

“What’s that?” Mike asked, brow furrowing.

“Cab fare.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

Harvey grabbed Mike’s hand and placed the bills in his palm, folding his fingers over into a fist and retaining his hold. “Go home. Don’t answer your phone unless it’s me.” He let go of Mike’s hand and began steering him towards the door.

“And what are you going to do? Hey, slow down. I need my stuff.”

Without a word, Harvey disappeared once more down the hallway, and came back with Mike’s messenger bag. “Is everything in here?”

“Yes,” said Mike, “but you never answered my question. What are you going to do about Paul and Bianca?”

“What needs to be done.”

“But – ”

They were standing by the front door now. Harvey gripped Mike’s shoulder, backing him against the door. Their faces were inches apart. “Don’t worry, Mike. I’ve got this. Where the game is concerned, you’re my responsibility. I will handle everything.”

Time seemed to have crawled to a stop. Mike’s gazed lowered, focusing in on Harvey’s lips. He slumped back against the door, heart hammering in his chest, just waiting for Harvey to lean in and kiss him. Mike’s eyelids began to droop and one hand came up to touch Harvey’s bicep.

There was no kiss, though. Instead, Harvey reached for the doorknob and turned it, opened the door, and sent Mike stumbling backwards into the hall.

“Harvey?”

“Go home Mike.”

The door closed in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! A little late this week....

Monday morning was every bit as awkward as Mike had imagined it would be. He’d done his best to camouflage his black eye, even resorting to buying concealer Sunday night and dabbing it on before getting on his bike in the morning. When he got to the office, he checked his face in the bathroom mirror, shaking his head in distaste. The cover-up job wasn’t going to fool anyone.

In a preemptive strike meant to deter any comments or speculation about what in the living hell he'd done to himself this time, he made sure his co-workers were all at their desks and then sauntered into the department and announced, trying to sound nonchalant, “Yes, I have a black eye. No, I have not been a victim of domestic abuse or a hate crime, nor have I become a member of a Fight Club, been mugged, taken up extreme sports, wrestled a wolverine, or…. Okay, I’m out of possible scenarios, but the truth is – not that it’s any of your damned business – I was caught up, completely by accident and against my will, in a minor altercation at a bar.”

He glared around the room, silently daring any of them to contradict or question his story.

“Nothing to say? Anybody? Hello? Great. Um, happy Monday. As you were.”

Although no one did pose any questions, or insinuate that he wasn’t telling the truth, he saw the skeptical looks that passed between them. Feeling very much as if he were being humored, and resenting it like hell, he took his seat and prepared to dive into his work.

Mid-dive, his desk phone rang. It was Donna.

He took a deep breath, stiffened his spine, and picked up the receiver. “Billing Department,” he stated in the oiliest, most professional sounding tone he could muster. “Mike Ross speaking. How may I fulfill your billing needs this beautiful Monday morning?”

“Stow the horseshit, Ross. Harvey wants you in his office. _Now_.”

Since Harvey had kicked Mike out of his condo yesterday, he hadn’t heard from him. He’d expended a great deal of nervous energy fretting about what sort of revenge Bianca might serve up via her husband, about whether or not he was out of the game, and about whether or not he still had a job. He sweated out the “what ifs” for most of the afternoon and evening. When he gave up and went to bed, sleep was slow in coming. By the time it did, he had nearly convinced himself that he should forget his job and the straight life, and call Trevor to plead for his drug dealer gig back.

He listened to the dial phone absently after Donna hung up on him, remembering that he was angry at her. Probably angry at her. Angry at her if it was him, Mike, that Donna objected to as a possible…interest?... for Harvey, and come on, lady, that was hurtful and uncalled for, because what exactly was wrong with Mike anyway?

_I’m a catch,_ he assured himself. _I’m delightful._ He nodded decisively and hung up the phone. As he made the walk to the side of the floor where Harvey was officed, he decided that regardless of Donna’s opinion of him, she was still the one mostly to blame for his awful weekend, and therefore his grudge against her remained in effect until she apologized to him.

Donna stink-eyed him as he passed her desk, and he hairy-eyeballed her right back. With his black eye on terrifying display, Mike was pretty sure he won that contest.

Harvey was on the phone when Mike entered his office, and he waved Mike toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Sure,” Harvey was saying. “Great. Thanks Jessica. Yeah, later.” He hung up, straightened in his chair and focused on Mike, rather like a magnifying glass focusing sunlight on the insect it intended to roast to death.

“Hi,” said Mike, hoping to diffuse some of the awkwardness permeating the room. “How you doing?”

Harvey tilted his head to one side. “Mike…. Mike Ross. You are turning out to be one major thorn in my side.”

That was not even remotely what Mike had expected him to say. He blinked, looked around the room, as if there might be someone standing nearby by who could explain to him what Harvey’s problem was, found no help, and began to count slowly to ten, keeping his eyes glued to Harvey’s desktop.

“Mike –”

He held up a finger, shushing Harvey, and whispered out loud, “…seven, eight, nine, ten. Okay. That didn’t work.” He looked up at Harvey. “I’m still pissed. Because, really? _I’m_ a thorn in _your_ side? That’s a laugh.” He barked out a fake laugh. “None of this was my idea, if you'll recall.”

Harvey held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, simmer down. Maybe we should start over. This whole situation is becoming ridiculously complicated.” He murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “Probably because there are so many goddamn lawyers involved.”

Mike pretended to look at his watch, even though he didn’t wear one. “Can we speed this up a little? My supervisor is already gunning for me, and this unexplained disappearance isn’t going to help. So? Let's have it. Do I still have a job?”

“Yes.”

“Am I out of the game?”

A noticeable pause, and then Harvey said, sounding reluctant, “No.”

“That’s just great,” snapped Mike, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me straight out, has the firm taken out a large life insurance policy on me? Or have you? Is that what’s going on here?”

Harvey actually rolled his eyes, damn him. What the hell did he have to be annoyed about?

“Mike,” he said slowly, “you signed a contract.”

Mike gave an irritated huff. “I sure as hell hope you revise that contract before the next poor sucker puts their name on the dotted line. Like maybe include some safeguards and whatchamacallits… caveats or what have you.”

Harvey’s expression was solemn. “I’m sure we will – If there is another Jackpot after you, that is.”

This surprised Mike. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harvey looked at his real, actual watch. “How about if I just tell you what happened after you left yesterday. That might speed things up.”

Mike made a “come on, lay it on me” gesture with his hands.

At that, Harvey allowed himself a tiny smile. “Thank you. I called Paul back right after you left. Of course, he had already spoken to his wife. I gathered that she is not a happy woman, although I’m willing to bet that condition predates you by months, if not years. Her version of events, while matching up with yours as far as the bare facts are concerned, did not paint you in a flattering light. I’ll spare you the coarse hyperbole quoted at me by Paul.”

“I’ll see her coarse hyperbole and raise her some ugly, unvarnished truth.”

“Nevertheless, moving along.... Paul wants your tenure as Jackpot ended.”

“Sounds good to me. And did you actually just call it ‘tenure’?”

“Let me make this clear. Yes, you may choose to bow out, but if you do, your job is forfeit.”

Mike's simmering anger burbled hotly to the surface, bringing out his reckless streak. “Great.” He stood up. “Problem solved. See you around, Harvey. Trevor will be thrilled to have his favorite dealer back.”

He made it three steps towards the door before he felt Harvey’s hand on his arm, fingers digging in painfully. He tried to yank free, but Harvey spun him around and now held his with both hands.

“Damn it, Mike, will you let me finish? You don’t need to throw in the towel yet. I’ve told you more than once that you’re my responsibility. Did you think I would give up that easily on you?”

They were glaring at one another, both breathing hard. Finding it hard to speak, his jaw was so tight, Mike managed to bite out, “I am not your responsibility. I’m not a fucking child. And I’ve had it with being the entertainment for a bunch of a-holes with more money than they know what to do with.”

He pulled one arm free, and then the other, backing up a step in the direction of the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Donna ogling them, having obviously heard the whole thing. He didn’t care. Let her listen if she found it all so goddamn fascinating.

Mike shook his head slowly. “I should have walked the first time you came to me with your threats and non-disclosure agreements. Maybe I was better off dealing drugs.”

He turned, meaning to leave, but Harvey stopped him again, this time with his voice. “You weren’t. You were walking a path that has no happy ending. Mike, I used to work in the DA’s office, and I can’t even begin to tell you how many drug-related arrests came through there. If you return to that life, that’s precisely where you’re headed, no matter how you might try to fool yourself into thinking otherwise.”

Something sincere and earnest in his voice made it past Mike’s anger, and he turned back to face Harvey. “Why do you even care?” he asked.

Harvey scowled as if Mike had just insulted him. His gaze flitted past Mike and out to Donna’s desk. “Will you just sit down and hear me out?” Mike remained obstinately silent, and Harvey added, “Please?”

Mike’s defenses were no match for that gentle, pleading voice. He gave one, jerky nod and retraced his steps, dropping down into the chair, slouching and feeling skeptical.

Instead of sitting in his own chair, Harvey perched on the corner of his desk, leaving only a few inches between his knee and Mike’s. He glanced at Donna again, and then twisted a little to reach over to his phone, where he stabbed decisively at one of the buttons.

Mike looked out the glass door at Donna, who appeared to be working at her computer, while at the same time shaking her head, as if Harvey or Mike had done something to disappoint her.

“Radio silence,” Harvey explained.

“You mean…?”

“Mm hm. She’s a fantastic assistant, partly because she knows all.”

Even though Mike had Harvey’s assurance that Donna couldn’t hear them at the moment, he still lowered his voice and whispered his next question. “Why does she hate me?”

Harvey sighed. “She doesn’t hate you. She…disapproves of you.”

“Buy why? I’m delightful. She’s never even given me a chance.”

“She's protecting me.”

“From what?”

A pained look crossed Harvey's face. “From you, Mike."

And that stung. Mike didn’t know how to respond to that, so he stared down at his hands and remained quiet. A second later, he jumped nervously when Harvey’s hand touched his shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze.

"Try not to take it personally. Please don't repeat this, but a member of Donna's family has had long term issues with drug addiction, and she finds it difficult to be rational about the subject. She knows about your past, and assumes you will fuck up sooner rather than later.”

"Gotta love the vote of confidence."

“I think she'll come around eventually." Harvey gave Donna a troubled look before continuing. "We’ve gotten a little off-topic,” he said. “Now, I can absolutely understand your reluctance to continue on as the Jackpot. And to answer your earlier question, yes I do care. When I brought you into the game, I hadn’t had the chance to get to know you. Now that I have, I can see that you’re a bright kid. Call me curious. I’d like to see what you might become if you made the effort to do well, make something of yourself. That’s not going to happen if you go back to your old life”

“But if I stay here, I’m stuck as the Jackpot for six more months?”

“Yes, but as I’ve been trying to tell you, there will be changes going forward.”

“Such as?”

“First of all, Paul is suspended for a minimum of three months. I also intend to put a vote to the other players to have him removed permanently.”

This surprised Mike. “How difficult is that?”

“It needs to be unanimous, so it may not fly, especially since Cameron tends to vote against me on principle. Or lack of principle.”

So, a three month reprieve at least. Mike could still opt out after that time. “What else?”

Harvey’s expression took on a sour cast. “Jessica Pearson has agreed to fill in for Paul.”

“She agreed? How does she even know about any of this?”

An even more pinched look on Harvey’s face. “Paul told her.”

“Wait. I’m confused. Why would he bring her into it?”

Harvey stood up and began a restless prowl around his office. “It’s complicated. Maybe it would help if I gave you a little history. This game has been in existence for a long while. It started out under Gordon Schmidt Van Dyke as an extra incentive for the partners. It got somewhat out hand back then.”

“Yeah, Vanessa told me a little bit about that.”

“Well, when Jessica and Daniel Hardman staged their coup and took over the firm, Jessica insisted on joining the game – the first woman they’d ever allowed in – except the jackpots, of course. She also insisted on taming things down, which caused a fair amount of bad feelings. Her actions probably avoided some potential exposure for the firm, but it also took the excitement out of it for some of the players. A few quit, and a few outsiders were allowed in to keep a complete table. Once Jessica was satisfied that everyone was behaving themselves, she bowed out. And since then, everything has proceeded happily and smoothly – until you.”

“Gee, so sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you.” He finally stopped his pacing and went to sit behind his desk. “You’ve had two bad experiences, but I can guarantee you that none of the other players will want to risk upsetting Jessica. You should be perfectly safe from this point forward. So? What do you say? Have I managed to convince you?”

Mike opened his mouth to tell Harvey no, that he’d rather take his chances with Trevor. Was that really true, though? Harvey had a point about Mike’s possible future if he took that path. He’d binge-watched _Weeds_ on Netflix, after all. But six more months of Jackpot-hood filled him with a weird sort of premonitory dread. He felt as if a decision to continue would only be tempting fate unnecessarily.

Harvey must have read his indecision in his face. He fixed Mike with a dark, serious gaze. “What will it take?” he asked. “How can I sweeten the pot for you?”

“Are you actually trying to bribe me?”

Harvey pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I’m attempting to open a negotiation. Be smart about this. Tell me what you want from me to keep you in the game.”

What did Harvey expect him to ask for? Money? An expensive bottle of scotch? An Xbox? He opened his mouth and was surprised – perhaps almost as surprised as Harvey – to hear himself say, “Fix it so I can go to Harvard.”

He might have laughed at the stunned look on Harvey’s face, except that he was too busy being stunned himself at the suddenly resurrected desire that he had thought dead and buried years ago. He started to speak again, to retract his request and make it out to be a joke, but Harvey was already replying.

“Harvard? Oh, that’s right. Vanessa’s report said you’d been barred from there. Why was that again?”

“I – I have no idea where that came from. Never mind. It's stupid. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“No. You brought it up. It was the first thing that you thought of, so it must be important to you. Now tell me the whole story. What were your plans, and why did they change?”

Mike grew warm with the remembered humiliation of it all. Such a stupid episode. He recalled that he’d already told Harvey a part of it, so what did it matter if he knew it all?

“I had a full ride at Columbia,” he started, ignoring the blatant look of surprise on Harvey’s face. “School was always easy for me. I suppose I didn’t take it seriously enough. I wanted to have the whole college experience, get wasted, fuck around, pull random, stupid shit. My friend Trevor had gotten himself into some trouble and needed a lot of money fast. I tried to win it for him in a poker game, but we were set up by some frat boy dicks with a grudge against me, and I only ended digging us both deeper.”

“Which is why you don’t like poker,” Harvey murmured.

“Exactly. Anyway, we still needed money, so Trevor came up with another brilliant idea. We sold the answers to a chemistry test to this girl who turned out to be the daughter of the Dean of Admissions.”

Harvey gave him a sympathetic wince. “Ouch. So you were kicked out of school.”

“Right. And the Dean spoke to his colleagues at Harvard and made sure that Mike Ross would never be allowed inside their hallowed halls.”

“And you want me to… what? Use my alumni mojo to get the ban lifted?”

“Something like that.”

Harvey sighed and rocked back in his chair. “Supposing I could even do that. You’d still have to complete a degree at a four year university, score high enough on your LSAT’s, go through the admissions process, and then somehow come up with the money for both tuition and living expenses. Because if you think I’m going to first convince Sheila Sazs to unblackball you _and then_ pay your way, you are seriously deluded.”

“That’s not what I’m – wait, did you say ‘Sheila’s ass’ just now?”

“What are you, twelve? Focus.”

Mike began rubbing his forehead, but stopped when he noticed that Harvey was doing the exact same thing. He should probably just drop the whole subject, tell Harvey it had been a joke, but he’d said it out loud, and now the idea had planted itself in his mind. Harvey even knew the name of the woman who could get him back in. “I’m not asking you for money. Just the opportunity to get my life back on track. And the LSAT’s?” He made a scoffing noise. “I’ve aced those so many times it’s ridicu….” He trailed off at the look on Harvey’s face.

“Care to explain that?”

“Um. No?”

“ _Christ._ Cheating on a chemistry test. And then – correct me if I’m wrong – taking the LSAT’s for people who were too stupid or lazy to take it themselves. Did I get that right?”

Mike couldn’t help squirming a little in his chair. The whole test taking scheme was not something he’d been proud of, and he’d had to give it up when he’d almost been found out. “To be fair,” he said, “I didn’t cheat on that chemistry test. I got an A in chemistry. I just helped someone else cheat. And the other thing? I needed the money.”

“A paragon of virtue, that’s Mike Ross.” Harvey scowled and swiveled his chair away to stare out the window. “Sounds like maybe you’re not Harvard material after all. I recommend you lower your sights. Maybe you should consider one of the city colleges.”

And that… _hurt._ Surprisingly, it hurt a great deal. The worst part, Mike realized, was that Harvey wasn’t wrong. Did he agree with Donna, then? Mike might have done some seriously stupid shit, but he was still redeemable. At least, he was reasonably sure that he was redeemable.

A minute ago, he thought he’d had Harvey over a barrel of sorts. Regardless of Harvey's opinion of him, perhaps that was still the case. Trying to sound tough and confident, he sat up straighter and said, “You’re the one who wanted to negotiate. I’ve stated my terms. I’ll stay in the game if you make it possible for me to attend Harvard.”

Harvey glared across the desk at him, taking his time in answering. “All I can do is try,” he finally said. “I’ll make a good faith effort to get the ban on you lifted. Is that acceptable? Do we have a deal?”

Even as he admitted to himself that it would likely be a wasted effort – he could barely afford to complete an undergraduate’s degree, much less pay for Harvard – Mike felt a glow of satisfaction, and gratitude as well. Even if he never attended Harvard, the possibility would once again exist. Harvey could give that to him. The stupid, infernal, hell-cursed game could give that to him. So he nodded solemnly. “Yes. We have a deal. In writing, correct?”

“Of course,” said Harvey. “You’ll have something to sign before the end of the day.”

Mike stood and extended his hand to Harvey, who stared at it as if it were some incomprehensible foreign object, before rising to his feet and grasping it in his own hand. They shook, and kept shaking, and Mike grew warm, his spine felt electrified, and his knees began to grow semi-gelatinous. He was spared the humiliation of dissolving into a puddle on the floor when Harvey pulled his hand back, having to give it an extra forceful yank to free it from Mike’s grip.

Mike feared he was blushing. “I’ll just get back to….” He jerked his thumb at the hallway.

“Good idea.”

Mike practically stumbled through the door in his haste to leave Harvey’s office. Even as he stutter-stepped to keep upright, he retained enough presence of mine to remember to glower at Donna, who sniffed and dismissed him with a tart, “Nice moves, Nureyev.”

His snappy comeback to her didn’t arrive until he was halfway back to Billing, and it was a weak, mumbled, "Oh yeah? Maybe _you're_ the ballerina..."

When Mike appeared back at his desk, no one mentioned his overly long absence. In fact, no one spoke more than a handful of words to him for the rest of the day. He might have been insulted, but he was too busy replaying his conversation with Harvey, second-guessing himself, wondering if he had done the right thing by staying, and wishing he had asked for a large sum of cash instead of a virtually useless clean slate from Harvard.

After lunch, an interoffice envelope arrived with an addendum to the non-disclosure agreement, spelling out what had been discussed in Harvey's office. He scanned it, signed it, and re-addressed the envelope back to Harvey. In an excess of caution, he stamped it "Confidential" before throwing it in the department out-box.

In an excess of churlishness, he retrieved the envelope and wrote in parentheses under the stamp, "That means you, Donna," and returned it to the out-box.

 

November started out slow in the billing department, but gradually picked up speed. Attorneys began their annual push to submit all as yet unbilled time, since total billables played a large part in the allocation of year-end bonuses and partner distributions. As a result, the workload in the billing department climbed steadily as the month advanced. His co-workers assured Mike that December would be even more intense, with everyone billing madly all month long in order to meet the December thirty-first deadline.

Mike wasn't bothered by the prospect of extra work. Anything that took his mind off of recent events and kept him from anticipating the looming poker game at the end of the month was welcome. He didn't see Harvey for the next few weeks, although he seemed to run into Donna every time he turned around. He wondered if Harvey had said something to her, because if she didn't exactly proclaim him her newest BFF, she did treat him with noticeably less hostility.

He wasn't sure what to make of this development. Had her attitude toward him actually shifted, or was this some diabolical female thing that would reverse itself when the next round of bitch hormones went washing through her?

One day at lunch he brought this up with Lisa. He might not have put it as diplomatically as he could have. He might have actually used the words, "bitch hormones," because Lisa froze with a mouthful of chicken salad in one cheek and glared at him. When she finally managed to swallow, she told him in the most hostile voice she had ever used with him, "Just because you're my gay best friend, doesn't mean you get to use words like that around me."

He secretly wondered if Lisa was suffering from her own case of bitch hormones, but wisely refrained from saying so out loud. Instead, he let a few minutes of less incendiary conversation ease the tension between them before asking, "Let's say, theoretically, that someone wished to get on Donna's good side. What might that someone do to achieve that? And let's also assume that someone does not have access to a no-limit American Express card."

Lisa seemed to consider that. "She's pretty religious about her coffee drinks. Ply her with some of those, maybe. I bet you could hit up Norma to find out Donna's favorite drink."

"Norma?"

"Louis Litt's assistant."

"The sour little harpy who looks like one of the goblins from Gringotts?"

"That's the one."

He pulled a face, and Lisa laughed at him.

"She's a dear, once you get to know her. I think she cultivates that image mainly to aggravate Louis. He's equals parts terrified of and devoted to her."

"Do I need to get on _her_ good side in order to get on _Donna's_ good side?"

Lisa shrugged and tossed her napkin on the table. "If you plan to play office politics, it can't hurt to collect allies. Bring her anything sticky and sweet and swimming in cinnamon and she'll be your friend for life."

 

The two days off for Thanksgiving should have been a welcome reprieve, but for Mike they translated into a four day weekend that seemed to stretch on endlessly. He and Vanessa had planned to share the holiday together, but at the last minute she had to go out of town on a case, and he was stuck by himself. His Thanksgiving dinner consisted of cold pizza, Cheetos, and most of a bottle of Jack Daniels. At two in the morning, he got to experience the same meal, only in reverse order, as he hunched over his toilet.

The rest of the weekend, he tried to talk himself into going out and enjoying himself at a bar or a club, of finding someone to help him scratch the itch brought on by pointless impure thoughts of Harvey Specter. Every time he came close to shedding enough inertia to get up off the couch, he remembered the attack when he'd been out with Vanessa, or re-lived the karaoke/Ted fiasco. He acknowledged to himself that he was feeling more than a little gun shy, but that didn't help to get him back up on the hookup horse.

So he stayed on the couch and endured an _Indiana Jones_ marathon, followed by a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ marathon, followed by several truly disturbing episodes of _Criminal Minds._ And then he slept. And craved pot. And slept some more.

He went into work Monday morning with creeping depression and sick dread about Friday's poker game. He was neck deep in draft bills with two days left in the month, so he fixed himself a mug of coffee, put his head down, and prepared to go all caveman on his workload's ass. He was editing away like a possessed fiend when invitations to the firm's annual holiday party arrived via interoffice mail.

He glanced up distractedly from one of Louis Litt's page-long time entries as a buff-colored envelope landed on the back of his hand.

"Better find a date," stated Lisa, leaning her hip against his desk.

"Huh?"

"For the holiday party. It's on a Friday night this year."

"I thought you said they put on a firm-only lunch at one of the nicer hotels, and we all get to get tipsy and leave early for the day."

"Usually. Every few years they switch it up with one of these nighttime shindigs, with a band and dancing and lots of drunken shenanigans to add to firm lore."

Mike frowned, not liking the sound of that. "Lore, you say? Like what?"

"One year, Kendra -- "

"Hey," interjected the person in question, "we retired that story, remember?"

_I'll tell you later,_ Lisa mouthed at him with a wink.

"You do that," said Kendra, "and I'll tell him about The Incident at Santa's Village. Mutually assured destruction, baby."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Fine." To Mike, she added, "I guess you'll have to create your own lore. Anyway, you have to fill out the card in the invitation and get it back to HR by next week."

Mike opened the envelope to find an embossed invitation and an enclosed card on which he was to indicate whether he would be bringing a plus one, and which dinner he and the hypothetical guest would like. The choices were vague: beef, seafood, or vegetarian.

"Last year it was Kobe beef," Lisa said. "The seafood was a fantastic shrimp and prawn scampi. And the vegetarian.... Heidi, what was that one last time?"

Heidi grimaced, but didn't look up from her monitor. "Grilled vegetables over saffron rice. Terrible."

"Uck. Well, then, meat it is. Seafood for me, and beef for my beefcake."

"Oh my god," said Mike, trying but failing to stifle a laugh, "did you really just say that?"

"Don't be jealous. This is the first time the party and an active love life have coincided for me." She filled out an interoffice envelope and slipped in her reply card. "Anyone else?"

Heidi, Kendra and Ruthie all held up their cards, and Lisa walked around the room to collect them. When she got back to Mike, she hovered beside him with an expectant look on her face. "Tough choice, huh?" she finally asked. "Beef or seafood? Seafood or beef?"

"What?" He'd been focused on the "plus one" box. Could he get a date? Vanessa maybe? Feeling reckless, he shrugged and checked the box. It was a few weeks away. Surely he could find someone before then who would enjoy a free meal and good music?

He handed the card to Lisa, who handed it right back.

"You forgot your meal choice."

"Definitely beef," he said, checking it off with a flourish. "Allergic to shellfish, remember?"

"Oh, that's right. Bummer for you."

She closed the envelope and sent it on its way.

 

Tuesday, Mike returned Louis's bills to him personally. Louis wasn't in his office, so he set them on his desk, and then sidled up to Norma's desk.

He cleared his throat. "Hi."

Norma adjusted her reading glasses and stared up at him with watery, pale grey eyes. "Yeah, kid? You want something?" She sounded as if she'd been a smoker for a few centuries.

He thrust out the small paper bag he'd brought with him and she flinched backwards. He kept the bag where it was and watched as her nose twitched and she began to appear interested.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Fresh cinnamon roll from _Degroot's_."

She erupted in a phlegmy laugh. "Oh, you definitely want something." A claw-like hand whipped out and snatched the bag from him. She opened the bag and inhaled, a look of orgasmic bliss transforming her homely dried-apple face into something truly frightening. She set the bag on her desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell me."

"Just a simple request. What coffee drink does Donna prefer above all others?"

Norma flapped a hand at him. "Boring and predictable."

"Um, you mean Donna's drink tastes?'

"No," she snapped, causing Mike to twitch and take half a step back. "I swear to God. You kids with your bribes. And why is it always to do with Donna Paulsen? _Pfft_."

" _Pfft_?"

"Exactly. Well, I guess it can't hurt to tell you. She likes caramel vanilla mint latte with non-fat milk, topped with whipped cream, drizzled with chocolate and dusted with nutmeg." She grinned and seemed seconds away from actually cackling. "Do you need to write that down?"

"No," he whispered. "The utter wrongness of it is seared into my brain."

Norma picked up the bag with her cinnamon roll and waved it at him. "If you need anything else, you know my price." She glanced up and down the hallway and then crooked her finger at him, urging him closer. "I even know that girl's bra size."

"That's...not disturbing at all." He took a few backwards steps to put distance between them before making haste back to the billing department. Somewhere in the deep woods, he decided, a gingerbread house was missing its owner.

 

Wednesday, Mike showed up to work early, and armed with the hybrid coffee drink from hell. He'd had time to consider that perhaps Norma was yanking his chain, and his efforts would backfire horribly, but he was running out time. Friday was the poker game, and with Vanessa still out of town, odds were good that Donna the card whisperer would be sitting in for her once more. He needed to get her on his side if he wanted to survive the weekend.

She was already at her desk. So far, so good. He watched her watch him approach. She looked suspicious. Mike arranged his face into the genial smile he'd practiced for ten minutes in front of his mirror at home.

"Good morning, Donna," he chirruped. "I had a little extra time this morning, so I thought I'd stop and get you something to brighten your day." With a series of flourishes that would have been the envy of second rate magicians everywhere, he produced the coffee and set it on the ledge in front of her desk. "Just the way you like it, madam."

"Doubtful," she scoffed, but reached for the coffee just the same. She carried it to her nose for an exploratory sniff. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Nutmeg. Hm." She carefully pried off the domed lid and began an examination of the beverage. Mike half-expected her to snap on a pair of latex gloves and pull out a couple of evidence bags to take samples. She sniffed again, lifted some whipped cream on her index finger for a taste, and then finally took a sip. Her eyebrows rose even higher, and she gave him a look which might have contained grudging respect.

"Any complaints?" he asked, all innocence.

"No, just curious. You must have had some inside information...." She trailed off, as realization seemed to hit her. Raising one clenched fist a few inches off her desk, she muttered, voice dripping with venom, " _Norma_." She took another, longer sip, and her expression lightened. "Well played, Mike Ross. So tell me, what's the end game here? What do you want?"

He was ready with his answer. "A truce. And...."

"And?"

"If and when you...." He leaned closer, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "If you're called to fill in again, and you win, you'll let me choose who I go to."

She stared at him, as if trying to x-ray his brain, or peel his skull back with the force of her laser-like gaze so she could poke around in his gray matter. "And if I do?"

"Coffee on your desk before eight o'clock, every day until the end of the year.”

"Interesting." She appeared to think about it before giving him a tight nod. "Agreed." Mike started to relax, but then Donna's index finger went up in the air and he tensed up all over again.   "With one stipulation."

_These people...always with the stipulations._ "Which is?" he asked wearily.

"You're not allowed to choose Harvey."

Mike fake-scoffed. "Yeah, right. Like I'd even want to."

She smiled a gentle, many-toothed smile which made him fear he might soil himself. "Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Ross. You so want him. I haven't made up my mind about you yet, though. You scored some points with the coffee, but the jury's still out."

He held his hands out, shaking his head. "Hey, I'm in survival mode here. I'm just looking for the chance to control my own destiny. And by the way, the jury's still out on you, too."

The dig didn't appear to faze her. "We have a deal, then?"

He hesitated, feeling as if he was about to commit a strategic error. What other choice did he have, though? "We do," he said finally. "FYI, you have a whipped cream mustache." She didn't, but he turned and walked away, thinking he'd gotten the last word.

Then he heard Donna say clearly, "Your fly's down."

He knew it wasn't but he still looked. _Damn her, he looked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Friday after work, Mike cooled his heels at the bar across the street for a few hours, recklessly ignoring his two drink limit, and lubricating his jittery nerves with half a dozen vodka tonics. By quarter to ten, he was back in the building, riding the elevator up to the fifty-second floor, leaning against the back wall to stay upright. When the car stopped and the doors started to open, he took one step toward the front before noticing with surprise that this was the forty-seventh floor, not the fifty-second.

Louis Litt entered, still dressed in his business suit. His face split in a wide smile when he saw Mike, and he moved to stand next to him, both of them leaning against the wall.

“Mike.” Louis glanced at him sidewise and then stared forward once more. “Good to see you. Good job on my bills this month.”

Afraid that his voice would betray his level of inebriation, Mike smiled tightly and nodded his head.

“I was glad to hear that you’d be back this month,” Louis continued. “Harvey didn’t go into any real detail, but we all heard the news that you suffered injury again last month.”

Mike nodded again. They arrived at the fifty-second floor, the doors slid open and Mike followed Louis off of the elevator.

“I’ll do my best to win you.”

They’d reached suite 5208, but instead of unlocking the door, Louis stopped and clasped Mike’s shoulder. It was an effort of will, but Mike managed not to squirm or jerk away from Louis’s touch.

“I can promise you,” said Louis, a look of utter sincerity on his face, “that you won’t come to any bodily harm on my watch. In fact, it will be like a mini-vacation. We’ll both be pampered at my exclusive spa, we’ll eat like kings, and then I’ll take you out for an evening of the best live entertainment that you could hope to find anywhere in the world.”

Mike stared blankly back at him, fighting the belch that kept trying to erupt from his throat.

“Would you like to guess? No? Well, prepare to be gob-smacked, because I wangled fifth row seats to _The Nutcracker._ This is the new Parker and Stone production I’m talking about here. It’s supposed to be both ground breaking and transcendent.”

Mike manufactured an appreciative smile. "Sounds....Wait. Did you say Parker and Stone?"

“Apparently they're new to the ballet world, but I can see from the look on your face that you’re duly impressed.” His cheeks bunched up in a smile, and he pointed a finger at Mike. “See? I knew I could do it. You’re gob-smacked. That is definitely the look of a gob-smacked young man.” He let go of Mike and turned to unlock the door, letting them into the storage room.

Mike followed along silently, not having the heart to tell Louis that the look he’d seen on Mike’s face involved smacking only inasmuch as he’d had the sudden urge to smack his own head against the nearest wall.

Repeatedly, and with great force.

Because, why not save the Universe the time and trouble of doing it to him?

 

All the players were assembled, the game was underway, and Mike was kicked back in his recliner with two heaped plates of greasy snack foods and a beer, watching the latest riveting round of betting. By watching, he meant gazing up at the ceiling, and by riveting, he meant dull enough to make him want to plunge a fork into his skull to put himself out of his misery.

Everyone seemed subdued tonight, which he put down to the presence of Jessica Pearson. She wore an ivory and camel designer power suit, and conducted herself as if involved in a high stakes business negotiation. Amusingly, her tactics didn’t help her win any more pots than usual. In fact, half an hour into the game, her piles of chips were already severely depleted. Evidently, one does not simply steamroll Lady Luck the way one steamrolls opposing counsel.

Harvey and Donna appeared to have reached some sort of détente. The tension from the previous month was gone, replaced by an intense, focused, competitive attitude. It would seem that tonight, they were the players to beat.

Mike chewed thoughtfully on his fifth jalapeño popper, ignoring the scalding cream cheese that oozed out and decorated the front of his shirt. Which of these players, he wondered, would he choose if Donna won again tonight? So far, it seemed about fifty-fifty whether she would or not, so he'd better get his ducks in a row. He began a quick evaluation of his choices.

Mike had considered Tom relatively safe, except that tonight he'd arrived high as fuck. Mike wasn’t sure it would be wise for him to put himself in the company of such an unrepentant stoner, since he had made the decision to avoid that particular lifestyle choice.

Benjamin seemed harmless as a hamster, but as Mike studied him, he downgraded him to harmless as a hamster on crack in search of a greased wheel. The way he was throwing back energy drinks had Mike worried for his health, and he feared that if he had to spend the entire weekend with him, he might just turn the tables and commit harm against the twitchy little man.

Cameron sported his normal look of constipated annoyance. It was difficult to give him a fair evaluation, since he hadn't yet revealed his plans for Mike. It involved some kind of hobby, he remembered that much. “Hobby” covered a lot of ground, though. For all Mike knew Cameron wanted to perfect his aim by throwing knives at Mike, or trying to shoot a lit cigarette out of his mouth.

And then there was the question Cameron had posed to him in the kitchenette when Mike had been waiting for the microwave to ding, and Cameron had been refilling his drink – scotch, just like Harvey.

“Do you work out, Mike?” he’d asked, eying Mike as if attempting to see underneath his clothing.

“I beg your pardon?”

Cameron pursed his lips and turned away. “Just wondering about your muscle definition.” With that enigmatic comment, he returned to the table, leaving Mike to picture oily wrestling matches and fights to the death in the arena.

Now, he silently crossed Cameron off his list. _There be danger._

That left Jessica, Louis and Logan. No, scratch that. It left Louis and Logan, because no way in hell would Mike willingly throw himself into the orbit of the firm’s managing partner. It was bad enough that she knew as much about him and his life as she already did. When he’d met her for the first time tonight, she’d treated him to a silent, searching appraisal and then turned an equally unreadable look on Harvey. Mike’s personal interpretation of the whole interaction was that Jessica could not understand why all of these accommodations were being made for Mike, someone she obviously found lacking.

So. Louis or Logan? Logan or Louis? Two entirely different weekends would result from either choice. It didn’t help Logan’s chances that he had a superficial resemblance to Ted the bartender. On second thought, maybe sex with Logan would actually help Mike move past that episode. On third thought, maybe it wouldn't. And there was Harvey to consider. And Rachel Zane. But… Louis?

There was always the possibility that Donna wouldn’t win after all, and the choice would be taken away from Mike. Somehow that didn't put him any more at ease. Deciding to eat his feelings, he stuffed himself on junk food, enjoyed his second beer, and eventually managed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

 

“I swear to God,” came Benjamin’s aggrieved voice, slicing across Mike’s Dali-esque dreamscape, “she has to be cheating. I don’t know how she’s doing it, but nobody can be that lucky.”

Mike pried his eyes open to find the game just breaking up. All the chips sat in front of Donna, and she was calmly counting her winnings.

“Benjamin,” said Jessica sternly, “don't be a poor loser. Unless you have evidence of any wrongdoing, you will keep your baseless accusations to yourself. Understood?"

Benjamin twitched and guzzled Red Bull, gave a terse nod, and continued to look unhappy.

All of the attention in the room now turned to Donna.

"First of all," she began, "thank you for all of your bribes and bootlicking. Sadly, it's all been for naught, as I've been persuaded through superior bribery to bestow my proxy upon a second proxy. Mike? Wipe the drool off your chin, dig yourself out from under that pile of artery clogging horrors you call food, and step over here to claim your owner for the month.”

"Urgh hunh?" Mumbled Mike, rubbing his eyes, as the rest of the room erupted in a cacophony of surprised objections.

“You can’t do that.”

“It’s unheard of.”

“Letting the Jackpot choose is a clear violation of the rules.”

Mike couldn’t quite untangle the voices to figure out who had said what, but all of them were male. When he’d made it to his feet and half-walked, half-stumbled over to the table, Jessica gave him another one of her piercing, death-ray stares. He may have peed himself a little.

“I don’t recall any rules against it,” she said finally. “Harvey? Louis? You two are the most familiar with the language in the non-disclosure agreement. Is there anything in there that would disallow this?”

Both men shook their heads. Louis said, “We may want to look at updating the contract in the future.”

Jessica waved him off. “Do what you want. Right now, since there would seem to be nothing prohibiting him from doing so, I’d like to hear Mike’s choice, so we can all go home and get some sleep.”

_Louis or Logan,_ Mike remembered, had been his last thought before he’d nodded off. They were sitting next to one another tonight, and he looked back and forth between them. Louis appeared excited, disheartened, and ready to burst into tears. How he managed that all at once, Mike had no clue.

Logan, on the other hand, seemed only to be waiting for his impending coronation as King of the Jackpot. And Mike wanted to say yes to that, he realized. In spite of everything, regardless of Harvey, and Rachel, and Mike's own lingering fears, he wanted to go home with Logan and lose himself in the dark pleasures that Logan’s gaze promised. The problem was, the notion also alarmed him to the point that he found himself hyperventilating and perspiring freely. And _that_ realization made him want to drive north, find Ted’s bar, and punch him in the nose for forcing him into the action he was about to take.

He cleared his throat, gave Harvey a quick, involuntary, and perhaps apologetic glance. “I choose Louis,” he said.

Several seconds of dead silence greeted his pronouncement. Then groans and disappointed mutters broke out in every direction.

Over all of that, however, he could hear Louis’s wordless yell of excitement, and he saw his triumphant fist pump. “Mike Ross, you’ve chosen wisely. Oh my god, I’m speechless. Wait, wait. No. No I’m not speechless. You won’t regret it. I promise you, on my honor, you will not regret it. I want to thank Donna, for winning, and Jessica – ”

“Jesus, Louis,” interrupted Harvey, “put away the notecards. You didn’t win the Oscar. Nobody wants to hear an acceptance speech.” He downed the rest of his scotch in one gulp and stood up, pulling on his suit jacket in angry, jerky movements. He looked around the table, not meeting Mike’s eye, and said, “I’ll see you all next month.” He exited without looking back.

After that, everyone else took off with only the barest of farewells, leaving Mike and Louis and Tom alone in the room. Mike returned to his corner to collect his things and Tom followed him.

“Really, Mike?” Tom whispered, glancing back at Louis over his shoulder. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? We could have had a great weekend together.”

“Er, sorry? Maybe next month. It’s just….It would be too much of a temptation. I can’t be smoking up, not with my job hanging in the balance. You understand, right?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “No one ever said….”

“I can smell it on you. When you walked in tonight, I wanted to bury my face in your shirt and breathe it in. That’s not good.”

Tom didn’t seem angry, just perplexed. “Oh. I didn’t realize. Okay. Next month I’ll be sure to stick to beer. How’s that sound?”

Mike smiled at him and patted his arm. “Sound’s good. Hey, did you at least avoid cleanup duty this time around?”

Tom’s face fell. “Thanks for reminding me,” he grumbled.

Mike wrestled down the laughter threatening to burst free. “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger” he said, and went to join Louis, who was waiting for him at the door.

 

******

 

Something both soft as dandelion fluff and sharp as needles landed on the back of Mike's head. He lifted his face from the pile of pillows in which it was buried. "Mmph?" he queried. The fluffy needles had moved to the center of his back. He reached one hand behind himself, but whatever it was, was just out of reach.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, craned his head around, and found himself face to face with a pair of unblinking yellow eyes, surrounded by grey fur.

"Purr," sneered the creature who now occupied his shoulder, and Mike's heart melted a little.

"Hey, little buddy," he cooed, gathering the kitten into his palms and rolling over onto his back. He set the ball of fluff on his chest and petted the kitten with one finger, only wincing a little when it kneaded his t-shirt with its claws. "Where did you come from?"

He checked his phone for the time. Nine o'clock. According to Louis, they were due at _Lotus Moon_ at ten-thirty for mani-pedi’s, fruit masques, and mud baths, followed by full body massages. This was all new territory for Mike. For him, up until now a manicure had consisted of nail scissors and teeth.

He stroked the fluff-ball, and looked around the room with interest. It was fascinating, he mused, how much you could learn about a person simply by their guest accommodations. Vanessa had none to speak of, just a sofa in the living room. The Porters' guest room could have been ripped from the pages of one of Martha Stewart's books. Assuming Martha had books with such things in them. Mike had no idea.

Harvey's guest room, he recalled, had a chilly, unused feel to it. His housekeeper may have ensured that no dust settled on the bleak, modern surfaces of the furniture, but spotless didn't equate with welcoming.

So far, Louis had by far the most appealing furnishings in his guest room. The furniture consisted of beautiful antiques, and some modern pieces that still managed to be full of character. The hardwood floor was overlaid with throw rugs woven in attractive geometric patterns of cream and brown and hunter green. The bed's coverlet echoed those colors, adding burgundy and sage to its floral pattern. The cream walls were hung with framed black and white photographs of striking architectural structures. Over the head of the bed were two delicate botanicals which looked like original watercolors. If Louis had decorated the room himself, he'd done a good job.

The kitten had fallen asleep on Mike's collarbone when he heard a toilet flush down the hall. Time to get dressed and face the day. He wasn't sure what one wore to an exclusive day spa with the name of _Lotus Moon_ , but that didn't much matter, since all he'd brought were jeans and a t-shirt. He supposed he'd have to talk Louis into taking him home so he could exhume his one suit and tie to wear to dinner and the ballet.

Cradling the passed out kitten in the crook of one arm, Mike went in search of coffee. He found it, and Louis, in the huge kitchen. Louis wore black pajamas with white piping, and a black kimono. He grinned at Mike when he caught sight of him.

"You found Charlemagne," he said, moving into Mike's personal space to scritch the kitten under its chin.

"He found me, actually." Mike handed Charlemagne off to Louis, and watched the lawyer rub the thing's tummy and gibber at it in some weird Litt/baby-talk hybrid. It was touching and highly disturbing at the same time. "You're a cat person, I take it," Mike commented.

"As is anyone of quality." He set Charlemagne down in front of what appeared to be a crystal dish filled with meat mush.

Mike could have argued with Louis, but didn't see the point. Dogs, cats, ferrets, reptiles -- he liked them all. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and gave the coffeemaker a significant look. Louis responded by grabbing a Harvard mug from his cupboard and pouring the coffee into it himself. He set out a matching porcelain cream and sugar set on the kitchen island, and they both seated themselves on one of the stools.

"Ready for a whirlwind day of pampering and fun?" asked Louis, passing Mike a plate holding a warm croissant.

"You know it," Mike replied, mouth already filled with flaky pastry.

"Have some butter and jam with that."

"Oh. Okay." He tore his croissant in half and smeared it liberally with the proffered condiments. "Thishish good."

"I should scold you for talking with your mouth full, but I'm in too good a mood. By the way, I made that jam myself."

Mike swallowed noisily and licked his lips. "Wow." He took another bite, chewed, and studied Louis. "You're not exactly what I expected. Saturday Louis, that is, as opposed to work day Louis."

Louis shrugged. "I'm more than my profession, Mike. I'm a man, like any other man, with wants and needs."

Mike's latest mouthful stuck in his throat, and he had to take a gulp of coffee to wash it down. "Such as?" he asked warily.

Louis paused, as if unsure how much he wanted to admit, and then waved one hand dismissively. "Oh, not much. The usual things a man wants. Success in his profession. To take a wife." He looked quickly in Mike's direction. "No offense."

"None taken." Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"A spouse, I suppose I should say."

As tempted as Mike was to change the subject, there was something so vulnerable in Louis's expression at that moment that he found himself asking, "Do you date much? With all of the theater and ballet that you attend, I'd think New York would be full of woman who would be thrilled to accompany you."

Louis sighed. "Alas, my heart is taken."

Mike permitted himself a small laugh at that. "Alas, huh? So what's the deal? Is she married?" _Or sighted?_ Immediately, he scolded himself for his uncharitable thought.

"No, Mike. Our stars are crossed. My home is here in Manhattan, and hers, again alas, is in Cambridge."

"Cambridge?"

"Oh, yes, Sheila is an amazing woman. She's the Dean of Admissions at Harvard."

"No kidding?" That had to be the selfsame Sheila Sazs mentioned by Harvey. What an interesting coincidence. "So what happened? You wouldn't move? She wouldn't move? Neither of you wanted a long-distance relationship?"

Louis practically sneered at that suggestion. "We are both of us sensual, passionate creatures, who need the back and forth, the in and out, the up and down, the ancient primordial dance of flesh on flesh. We need the sweaty, intertwined bodies, reeking of post-coital musk. Mmm. You don't get that on Skype."

Mike set his croissant down and pushed the plate away. "True. Skype is pretty, er, musk free."

"Done eating already, Mike?"

Mike gave him a fake smile. "I'm saving my appetite for dinner."

"Fair enough." Louis brushed his hands together and stood up. "Come along, then, young Mike Ross. Let the pampering begin."

 

Louis had hired a limo for the day. As they settled into the plush seats, Louis address the driver. "We have a little time, Brandy, so...."

"It's Barbara," she corrected, meeting Mike's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Fine, whatever. Take the scenic route, if you wouldn't mind. I'd like you to drop us off at the spa at precisely ten twenty-five."

"Yes sir," she murmured, and pulled away from the curb.

"Mimosa?" Louis asked Mike, holding up an open bottle of champagne.

"Sure."

Louis fixed their drinks, and Mike watched the familiar streets of Manhattan pass by outside the tinted windows.

"Just so you know," said Louis as he handed Mike his fizzy orange-colored drink, "after the spa we're heading to my tailor to pick up the tuxedo I commissioned for you. You need an outfit for tonight."

Mike nearly did a spit take with the mouthful of mimosa he'd been about to swallow. "Or we could swing by my place. I have at least one halfway decent suit hanging in the back of my closet." The one and only time he'd worn it was to his grandmother's funeral.

"Nonsense. It's my treat. Think of yourself as my protégé. My ward. The Robin to my Batman."

"I'd really rather not."

Louis breathed out huffily through his nose. "And I'd rather not pull the Jackpot card on you, but this is my party, so to speak, and I'll tux you if I want to."

_Pick your battles,_ Mike reminded himself. "Fine. I'll wear a tux. There won't be time to get it properly altered, though. It's probably going to look pretty lame."

Louis's face took on a smug look. "Not to worry. Any alterations will be minor. My tailor has agreed to take care of everything ASAP. While we wait."

"Come on. Even I don't buy that. They'd have to have my measurements, and I think I'd remember if someone had been lurking around with a measuring tape feeling me up lately."

"You just don't understand yet, do you?"

"Understand what?" Mike reached for the champagne and topped off his drink.

"You're working at one of the top tier law firms in New York. Hell, in the country. If something needs to be done, if information, no matter how sensitive and personal, needs to be ferreted out, we ferret. You're looking at the king of the ferrets."

The laugh burst out of Mike before he could stop it, although he managed to redirect it into something that sounded more like, "Wah _arghhh...._ " and ended with a series of scratchy sounding coughs.

Louis pounded him on the back. "Do you need a cough drop? Should I ask Brandy to stop somewhere? She's also a registered nurse."

"Barbara," Mike reminded him. "Stop hitting me. I'm fine. Just swallowed wrong. But, seriously, how did you get my measurements?"

"How do you think?"

Mike considered the question. "The Dark Arts?"

"Hilarious. That was my backup plan. No, I slipped Vanessa twenty dollars when she won you. She says you were so doped up after your misadventure, that you had no clue."

After he'd finished goggling at Louis, Mike gave a humorless chuff of laughter. _Sold out for a measly twenty bucks_. "Betrayal," he whispered, and reached for the champagne again.

 

Mike held up one hand and admired the rounded, perfectly buffed nails that Candace had achieved in half an hour. He was tempted to ask for black polish to complete the look, but doubted he could slide that one past Louis.

"You have to do the paraffin," the man in question urged him from the next chair over. Like Mike, he wore one of _Lotus Moon's_ buff colored robes and nothing else. Currently, DeDe had one of his feet in her lap while she violently pumiced his heel. This had the unfortunate effect of causing his robe to flap open, revealing Louis's lack of manscaping to Mike and anyone else who cared to look.

"You seriously want me to dunk my hand in that hot wax? Then what? You stick a wick in me and light me on fire?"

"God, you're such a newb. Trust me, you'll love it. Your hands will feel as soft as a butterfly's vagina."

" _What?_ "

"Go on. Do it. Do it, Mike. Dunk. Dunk. Dunk." Louis began pumping one fist in time with his rhythmic chant.

With a grimace and a muttered, "Fuck me," Mike dunked his hand in the paraffin and pulled it out. It was thickly coated in the whitish wax, but didn't hurt. "Huh," he said.

Candace and DeDe were giggling at their interactions by then. "Here, sweetie," said Candace, "swing around and we'll get your other side."

Mike repeated the process with his other hand, waited for the wax to harden, and then Candace rolled it off of him. He rubbed the back of one hand. It did, indeed feel incredibly soft.

"Well?" asked Louis, with a broad smile.

"Nice," Mike conceded.

"Wait until you do your feet. Spectacular."

Mike nodded absently, silently grateful that this wasn't one of the places he's read about that had tiny fish feast on its clients' feet to remove the dead skin. He wasn't paying close enough attention, and so missed Louis's movements. Suddenly, though, the chair he was sitting in came to life underneath him, massaging and kneading his back and buttocks in vigorous fashion.

"Yikes," Mike commented as he whole body was tossed around by the bucking and whirring chair. "This is a bit m-m-much."

"I know, right? Isn't it magnificent? I always threaten to smuggle one of these home with me. Isn't that right DeDe? What is it I always say?"

She switched feet, placing one back on the towel and dragging the other into her lap. Louis's robe gaped wider, but without so much as batting an eyelash, DeDe reached over and flicked it back into place. "You always say you want to smuggle a chair home," she said, sounding bored.

"They love me here," Louis assured Mike, _sotto voce_.

 

The fruit masque came next. It was bubblegum pink, and smelled like ripe bananas and rotten orange peels.

"This is disgusting," he complained to Louis, wriggling his face beneath the hardening paste.

"Sure, it's a little rank, but this stuff tightens up your pores like nobody's business."

"My pores were just fine."

"Everyone thinks that."

"I'm more worried about something else tightening up, just from the smell."

"Mike...."

"Just saying."

"You need to get into the spirit of things. You know what? I'm ordering us some aromatherapy." Louis snapped his fingers. "DeDe? Candace? Fruit masque girl?" He eyed Mike sideways, his words growing more and more strained as the masque hardened around his mouth. "I'll get us something with lavender and jasmine. That should fix you right up. Hello? Could we get some service in here?"

Mike didn't think there was enough lavender or jasmine in the world to make this experience enjoyable. _And people pay big bucks for this?_

 

After the fruit masques were washed off, Louis led the way into the mud room.

"They have only the very best muds here," he rhapsodized. "Today we're lucky enough to try their newest import. They're calling it 'Seaside Bliss.' How great does that sound?"

"Er, pretty great?" He eyed the two side-by-side mud vats suspiciously, and then looked around the room for some mud trunks, or even a mud thong that he could slip into. "So what do we...." he began, turning toward Louis just in time to see his robe fall to the ground. "...wear?"

_So this is how_ Lotus Moon _got its name,_ he mused as Louis's white, misshapen bottom wobbled up to the vat, and the other man climbed in and sank down up to his plump, hairy nipples in grayish-brown glop.

"What are you waiting for, Mike? Don’t be shy. Dive right in. The mud is fine."

Mike fiddled with the belt on his robe. "What's in it exactly?"

"The finest alluvial silt from the shores of the Mediterranean, mixed liberally with two different clays, peat, mineral spring water, plus added emollients, sloughers, and anti-oxidants. This shit will relax you and soften you up so much you'll feel half digested, and it will suck the toxins right out of you. You'll feel like a new man. Guaranteed."

Mike continued to stall. "It's fresh, though, right? I mean, I won't be sinking down into some previous customer's discarded body soil soup and...toxins? Correct?"

"Not at _Lotus Moon,_ " Louis assured him stoutly. "Each mudding session is prepared to order. This is the cleanest mud you'll find anywhere in the world."

"Okay then." Mike slipped out of his robe and hung it on the hook provided. He tested the heat of the mud with one finger, found it acceptable, and then stepped into the mud and lowered himself slowly. It felt...warm. Slimy. Intrusive. Mud gooshed into all of his private places. _Bad touch,_ he scolded the mud, shifting in the vat, only to have the mud violate him more completely.

He took a deep breath, telling himself to relax, that this was a treat which he'd never be able to afford on his salary.

"Well?" asked Louis. "What do you think? How does that primo mud feel?"

Mike shifted again, and scratched his shoulder. "Kind of...tingly. Itchy."

"Give yourself up to the mud, Mike. Let it happen."

Easy for Louis to say. Mike did his best to unclench, but the tingling didn't subside. It seemed to be growing worse. He scratched his arm, and then plunged his hand under the mud to scratch his knee and thigh. "Whew. I don't know, man. I'm tingling everywhere. Even my mouth." He felt sweat break out on his forehead, and his lungs seemed to tighten slightly in his chest. "I'm not sure...."

All of a sudden it was an effort to catch his breath. The air around him seemed to waver. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and shook his head, his chest working in spasmodic jerks.

As if from a distance, he could hear Louis's worried voice. "Mike? Hey, are you all right?"

Something was wrong, his instincts screamed. He didn't know what, but no way should he be feeling like this. Abruptly, he stood, shedding mud, and the room spun around him. In a matter of seconds, his airway seemed to have shrunk down to almost nothing and he wheezed and clawed at his throat.

"I c-c-c-an't," he rasped, and tried to climb out of the vat, but ended up falling to his knees in the mud, holding the sides to stay upright, and fighting to pull in a breath. Just one decent breath, that's all he needed. His rapidly narrowing vision told him he wasn't succeeding.

"Someone!" Louis bellowed. "We need help in here."

Mike heard mud splatter everywhere as Louis heaved himself out of his vat. Dimly, he was aware of hands gripping his shoulder, shaking him, pounding him on the back. He appreciated the effort, but none of it made any difference. His head grew light, and his tongue felt as if it filled his entire mouth. The last thing he was aware of was the thud of footsteps and the shrill confusion of panicked voices.

He was falling, descending as if in slow motion, into the primordial ooze.

Mercifully, the world went black before he hit.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos. Much appreciated!

A one-sided argument was going on somewhere close by, being conducted in low, venomous, hissing tones.

_“I don’t give a shit. Start giving me answers, or I’ll shut you down so fast, your head won’t stop spinning until after New Year’s.”_

It was an effort to raise his eyelids, which felt swollen and gluey, but Mike managed it. He squinted at the bright light that stabbed into his eyeballs, making his head pound. After blinking rapidly to bring his surroundings into focus, he spotted Louis sitting in the corner of the room with his cell phone jammed against his ear.

“The hell…?” Mike rasped. Judging from the beep of the heart monitor, the IV in his arm, his state of undress, and the ugly, utilitarian look of the small, curtained room, he was in a hospital – an ER, to be more specific. “Louis?”

The other man’s head swiveled in Mike’s direction. “I’ll call you back,” he snapped at the person on the other end of the line, and hung up. His face broke into a tentative smile. “You’re awake. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” He stood up and walked the two steps it took to reach Mike’s bedside – gurney-side? – and stared down at him with a hopeful, desperate, bright-eyed expression.

“What happened?” Mike asked him, wincing at the raw feeling in his throat.

“They think you had a bad reaction to something in the mud. Hang on. Let me get the doctor in here.” Before Mike could say anything else, Louis darted out of the room, and he heard him out in the hallway trying to summon someone, presumably a doctor.

Meanwhile, Mike took stock of himself. His headache hadn’t abated in the few minutes he’d been awake. He felt nauseous, his skin was hot and stretched too tight, and his throat felt as if he’d swallowed barbed wire. He struggled to remember the events that had landed him here. _Oh yeah. The spa_.

_The mud bath of death._

The mud that had tried to kill him.

He looked up when the curtain swished open and Louis dragged in an exhausted looking young man in gray slacks and blue button down shirt, who was carrying a chart, and had a stethoscope draped around his neck.

“This is Dr. Dahl. Tell Mike what you told me earlier.”

“Hi, Mike.” He moved to stand next to the bed and looked down at Mike with concern on his face. “You’ve survived an episode of severe anaphylactic shock. Based on the symptoms you presented, and what Mr. Litt has told us, you seem to have had an allergic reaction to something you were exposed to at the spa. The most likely culprit would be one of the ingredients in the mud bath.”

Mike stared blankly back at the doctor, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “But…it was just dirt. Right, Louis? Isn’t that what you told me? Just a big old mess of wet dirt?”

Louis rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Basically dirt. Mostly dirt. But top notch dirt. And of course, the sloughers and emollients.”

Dr. Dahl blinked at Louis, and then returned his attention to Mike. “Do you have any allergies that you’re aware of?”

Mike scratched idly at his forearm, wondering how they’d gotten all the mud off of him, and trying not to picture what that scene would have looked like. “Not to dirt,” he finally said. “The only thing I _know_ that I’m allergic to is seafood. Shellfish, specifically. We weren’t eating, though. All I’ve eaten today is a croissant with butter and jam.”

Dr. Dahl made some notes on Mike’s chart.

Louis startled them both by suddenly blurting out, “Seaside Bliss! Oh my god."

Dr. Dahl’s pen paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“That was the name of the mud. _Lotus Moon_ is renowned for their strictly organic muds and masques, and I’ll bet you anything one of the ingredients in Seaside Bliss is crustacean shells.”

The doctor nodded and jotted. “That would explain a lot. If you could confirm that for me, Mr. Litt, that would be helpful in determining a proper course of treatment, as well as prevention in the future.”

“Why would they do that?” Mike asked no one in particular. “They might as well have added ground up peanuts or rattlesnake venom to the mix.”

Louis was already dialing his phone, but he gave Mike a sympathetic look as he exited the room to make the call.

“So, how are you feeling, Mike?” the doctor asked.

“Um. Shitty?” He rattled off his laundry list of symptoms to Dr. Dahl.

“Your blood pressure and oxygen levels are back up into satisfactory ranges, which is a good sign. You still have some inflammation and swelling that I don’t like the look of. Plus, we have to be worried about possible recurrence within the next 24 hours.”

“We do?”

“It happens sometimes. Mike, I’m concerned about the swift onset of your symptoms. You didn’t accidentally ingest any of this mud, did you?”

“Did I eat mud? No, I did not. Not while I was conscious, anyway. But it may have been, er, introduced through alternate orifices. That mud was _aggressive._ ”

“I see. All right. Well, here’s what I’d like to do. I’m recommending that we admit you for observation until tomorrow afternoon. We’ll keep you on the IV to restore your fluids. If your swelling doesn’t subside in the next few hours, I’ll prescribe a course of Prednisone. Would you like some anti-nausea medication?”

“Yes, please. And something for this headache would be great.”

“You got it. We’re going to send you home with a supply of epi-pens, and I want you to keep a couple of those with you at all times. You also might want to consider a medical alert bracelet.” Mike must have grimaced, because the doctor chuckled. “There are some quite stylish ones available these days. I’ll leave it up to you, but with such rapid onset, and such a severe reaction, you might not be so lucky next time. Better safe than sorry.”

Mike gave a noncommittal grunt. “How did I get here, anyway?”

“The paramedics brought you in.”

“Paramedics? Wow. I don’t remember any of that. I’m glad they made it there in such a hurry.”

Any trace of humor on Dr. Dahl’s face had vanished. “Actually, I doubt they would have been fast enough.”

“That’s right,” Louis said, as he reappeared. “You may just owe your life to the quick thinking of Brandy. By the way, shellfish confirmed.”

“Br -- You mean Barbara? The limo driver?”

“And nurse. Didn’t I mention that? She was in the spa getting the manicure I treated her to. She carries an emergency first aid kit with her. She hit you with both epi-pens, and you were still struggling.” Louis’s face had grown pink with emotion, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Shit, Mike, I thought we were going to lose you. It was all hands on deck to wash the mud off of you. Even the fruit masque girl pitched in. And then the paramedics had to shove a tube down your throat. They were this close to performing a tracheotomy.”

Mike swallowed nervously and rubbed his neck. No wonder his throat felt so raw. “I hope you gave Barbara a nice tip,” he said weakly.

“Count on it.”

Dr. Dahl gave Mike’s shoulder a couple of pats. “Don’t worry. You had a bad scare, but we’ll get you fixed right up. Now you’ll know to be more careful in the future.”

“Will he?” said a cynical voice from the doorway.

Mike gave Louis an accusing look. “You called Harvey?”

“It was my duty,” answered Louis, who had paled noticeably.

As if sensing the sudden tension in the room, Dr. Dahl excused himself and left.

Mike couldn’t take his eyes off of Harvey. He was dressed all in black – black jeans, black v-neck sweater, black leather jacket – which seemed appropriate, since his expression made him look like a dark, avenging angel, ready to lay waste to a city – or a planet.

After a brief, weighted silence, Harvey spoke again, jaw barely moving. “I’ll take your statements separately. Louis, you first.”

Harvey jerked his head towards the hallway, and left the room. Looking like man on the verge of a meltdown, Louis followed. Mike could hear their voices for a few seconds, and then they moved out of range. He let out his held breath.

A nurse came in and administered the promised medications. A few minutes later, someone else arrived to collect his information and begin the process of checking him in. She left, promising that a room would be ready for him shortly. Gradually, the pounding in his head lessened, and he began to feel like he could easily fall asleep.

It seemed to take forever for Harvey to return, and Mike began to feel sorry for Louis. The man had seemed truly remorseful, but knowing Harvey, he was probably raking Louis over the coals with dedicated fervor.

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Mike whispered, and then giggled out loud.

“I’m glad to hear you find this all so amusing,” Harvey drawled, “but I, for one, am getting a little weary of having my weekends interrupted to deal with your shenanigans.”

“Hahaha… _shenanigans.”_ Mike couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

Harvey opened his mouth, probably to issue another cutting assessment of Mike’s attitude, but a tall young man pushed a wheelchair through the curtains and began to unhook Mike from his monitors. As the orderly helped Mike with the transfer from the gurney to the wheelchair, he remembered too late that all he wore at the moment was a roomy hospital gown with an unfortunate tendency to flap open in the back. When he was finally situated in the wheelchair, with a blanket over his lap to retain his dignity, he dared a glance back at Harvey. The other man’s expression may have softened, but it was difficult to say for sure.

******

Half an hour later, Mike was situated in his room – a private one, which should have surprised him, but he suspected both Louis and Harvey had exerted some influence in order to land him there. He used the bathroom, filled out his choices for dinner, and settled back in the bed, drowsy and prepared for a long, boring night.

He perked up again when Harvey returned and closed the door behind him.

“Where’s Louis?” Mike asked.

“In the men’s room.”

“You didn’t make him cry, did you?”

At that, a not-quite-smile appeared on Harvey’s face. “Maybe a little.”

Mike moved his legs restlessly for a few seconds before giving the blanket covering them a good yank to untuck it. “It really wasn’t his fault.” He rearranged the blanket, pulling up the end to let his bare feet breathe. He shoved another pillow behind his back and stared down at his normally pale, bony toes. Right now, they looked like little pink sausages. “Is it hot in here?” he asked.

Instead of answering, Harvey dragged one of the chairs next to the bed and sat down, his expression completely serious once again.

“What?” asked Mike.

A long sigh from Harvey. “Mike, I’m sorry this happened. I promised you would be safe, and I hate it when I can’t follow through on a promise.”

Mike flapped a hand at him. “What happened was a fluke. It wasn’t Louis’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t yours.”

“True. Still, blame needs to be assigned.”

“Are you saying it was _my_ fault?”

“No, idiot. Obviously the owner of the spa was negligent, and when Louis finishes washing all of the dried snot off his face and gets back here, he and I are going to pay them a visit.”

“You’re going to make them cry, too, aren’t you?” Mike felt bad for whoever would be on the receiving end of the The Wrath of Specter – not to mention The Wrath of Litt – but at the same time it made him feel warm (warmer) inside, and embarrassingly gooey. How long had it been since he’d had someone stick up for him like this?

“Oh, they’ll cry,” Harvey murmured darkly, staring past Mike at some inner vision, probably of the hellish, smoking rubble and scorched earth he planned to leave where _Lotus Moon_ had once stood. He shook himself and turned his gaze back to Mike. “All right. Let’s have it, Scheherazade. Spill. I want to hear everything that happened, starting from when Louis tucked you in last night, to when you woke up in the hospital.”

Mike coughed drily. “Better give me a glass of water first.” He gratefully gulped down the cold water Harvey handed him and started to talk.

 

Harvey was silent as he absorbed everything Mike had told him. Was Mike imagining it, or had Harvey’s face gone chalk white at his dramatic recreation of the agonizing moments just before he face-planted in three feet of designer death-mud?

Harvey’s only comment, however, was, “Louis has a kitten?”

“Uh, yeah. Goes by the name of Charlemagne. A real cutie. Also, kind of an asshole.”

“Huh. So was his last cat, according to Harold. I suppose it’s good to hear Louis is finally moving on from Bruno.”

“Who?”

“Charlemagne’s predecessor. So tell me, how are you feeling?”

“Honestly? Not bad, at the moment. I think those pain meds are kicking in. They’re kicking my headache’s ass right now. Kicked it to the curb.”

Harvey tried to pretend he wasn’t smiling, but Mike wasn’t fooled.

Harvey said, “I’m glad to hear it. Louis is probably sulking out in the hallway. Do you need anything else before I go?”

Mike made a face as if he was thinking about it. “Could you find out if Dr. Dahl’s first name is Ken?”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed. “You really are a child in a man’s body, aren’t you?”

“But a man, right?”

“Exactly how many drugs are you on?”

“A mighty fine man.” He grinned. “Sing it Harvey,” he stage-whispered. “You know you want to. I’m a mighty fine man.”

“You may want to look in a mirror before you state that so unequivocally.”

“What are you talking about?”

Before Harvey could answer him, the door opened and Mike was surprised to see Donna on the threshold. “Hey guys,” she started to say. Then her gaze moved to Mike, and a look of almost comical horror crossed her face before she could disguise it. “Holy cats, Mike. That’s…I…gosh.” She cleared her throat and smiled brightly. “You’re looking well.” Now she was staring anywhere but at him.

“Somebody give me a mirror.” Mike held out his hand, which was ignored by both Donna and Harvey.

Harvey said to Donna, “Did you bring what I asked for?”

“Yep.” She handed Harvey a file folder, and he in turn tossed it onto Mike’s chest.

“Sign those,” Harvey ordered.

Mike opened the folder. “What’s this?”

“A retainer agreement,” said Harvey. “I’ll be acting as your attorney in regards to _Lotus Moon._ You’ll also find a health care proxy agreement. If you’re going to keep ending up in the hospital, you’ll need someone to act on your behalf if you’re unable to.”

Mike gave a huff of annoyance as he scanned the forms. “First of all, I don’t ‘keep ending up in the hospital.’ That time with Vanessa was only a quick in and out. And does this mean you’ll have the right to pull the plug on me if it ever comes to that?”

“Technically, yes. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. I’d give you at least a day to regroup and emerge from the coma.”

Mike narrowed his eyes at Harvey, giving him a hard stare as he accepted the pen Donna handed to him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of a dick?”

Harvey gave him a smug smile. “Constantly. Now shut up and sign the forms.”

Mike shut up and signed the forms.

 

******

 

“How bad is it, Donna?”

“Hmm?” She flicked a shifty glance at him, and then returned to staring out the window.

“You’re starting to worry me,” said Mike. “Look, I know you’ve got a mirror in that steamer trunk you call a purse. Just let me have it for a second, all right?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Some things cannot not be unseen.”

“Duly noted. Still….”

Donna whistled tunelessly and examined her fingernails.

Mike gritted his teeth and ground out, “May I borrow your mirror, please?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I take no responsibility if you seize and drop like a rock from the shock of it.” She plunged a hand into her Hermes handbag, pulled out a gold Chanel compact mirror and handed it to him.

Mike opened the compact and stared at himself in the mirror. “Gah,” he remarked, and snapped the compact closed again.

“Told you,” sing-songed Donna softly, prying the compact from his hands and returning it to her purse.

Mike didn’t have an answer for that. All he could think about was that Harvey had seen him like this, swollen and blotchy and not anything remotely approaching mighty fine. And yet, Harvey hadn’t even reacted, certainly hadn’t blanched and refused to look at him like Donna had. That had to mean something. What it meant, though, he’d rather not think about right now.

Perhaps Donna had an inkling what direction his thoughts had taken, because she patted him on his hand and said, “I wouldn’t worry about it. The swelling will go down, and you’ll look like your usual stunning self again in a day or two.” As if she’d just noticed something, she touched the back of his hand once more. “Wow. That is some soft skin.”

He nodded distractedly. “I know, right? Paraffin.” It had occurred to him that, like Harvey, Donna had given up her Saturday to come in to deal with Mike’s latest mess. “By the way, thanks,” he said to her. “You can take off now if you want. I think I’m going to sleep for a while.”

“No can do. Harvey wants me here until he gets back.”

“Why?”

“Despite what you might think, he wants you to make it through the rest of the weekend breathing, and in one piece.”

“I don’t think anything. And what does he think is going to happen to me in a hospital?”

“Really, Mike? Don’t be naïve. Do you need me to enumerate all of the potential traps in this place? Fate is just lying in wait for some poor sucker who is not paying close enough attention. There are germs and bacteria aplenty in here, microscopic things that could eat your skin right off your body, or bring you to your knees with projectile vomiting and the screaming shits. Speaking of knees, do you want to keep your calves and your feet attached to both of yours? I think you do, and that is why you need someone watching your back every minute that you spend in here.”

Mike grimaced and held out both of his hands in surrender. “Enough. I get the picture. He studied her face and she raised one eyebrow in a wordless query. “Does this mean you like me now?” he asked.

She pulled a comical face and looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s say things are moving in that direction, and leave it at that.”

“Ha. I knew you couldn’t resist all of this.” He moved a hand up and down to indicate his entire body. “Not for long, anyway.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, obviously trying not to smile.

They were both quiet for a few minutes. Then Mike mused, “Poor Louis. He was really looking forward to that ballet tonight.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Parker and Stone, though? I keep picturing Clara saying, in Cartman’s voice, ‘Oh my God…you killed the Mouse King!’”

Mike gave a grunt of laughter. “I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Sugar Plums, Fuck Yeah.’”

They both chuckled. Mid-chuckle, Mike had another thought. “I don’t suppose – I mean, I know you’re Donna and all – but you wouldn’t happen to be free tonight, would you?”

“Maybe,” she said, sound suspicious.

“Why don’t you go to the ballet with Louis? If I have to imagine him sitting there all alone, with that empty seat next to him in row five….” He frowned and made sad eyes at Donna.

“Oh, God, Mike. Don’t do that. You’re a terrible boy, you know that, right?” She sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go to the dumb world premiere. Happy now?”

“Not as happy as Louis will be.”

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “And as an added bonus, Norma is sure to hear all about it. That ought to give the old crone something gnaw – or gum – on for a while. She’s been accusing me for years of trying to steal Louis away from her. As if.”

 

******

 

Harvey returned on his own an hour later, and Donna took off, presumably to catch up with Louis and inform him that she would be gracing him with her presence that evening.

“So,” asked Mike, rubbing his eyes sleepily, “did you burn the fuckers to the ground?”

Harvey took possession of the chair once more, looking as if he intended to be there for a while.

“We opened negotiations. They asked me to tell you they were very sorry, by the way. Not that an apology will mitigate the damages in any way. They need to be taught a lesson.”

Mike yawned, not really paying close attention to what Harvey was saying. “Yes, fine. Teach away.” His eyes kept wanting to drift shut. “You can go home, you know. Unlike Donna, I ain’t afraid of no hospital.”

“Were you afraid of mud before today?”

“You kidding? My mother was a mudder. My father was a mudder.”

“Go to sleep, Mike.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

******

 

Mike woke briefly when the night nurse arrived to check on him and replenish his IV. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Harvey still there, asleep in a chair in the corner, head tipped at what had to be an uncomfortable angle, and snoring softly. He had his jacket draped over himself like a blanket, and looked softer, more vulnerable, more…human. As if he had sensed Mike studying him, his eyes opened and he met Mike’s gaze across the dark room. Neither one said anything, but the gaze locked and held, and something ineffable and profound seemed to pass between them. Harvey shifted in his chair and closed his eyes, and the moment ended.

An hour or two later, Mike was dreaming about mud. It rose from below, squishing up between his toes, past his knees. The level rose impossibly fast, until it filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes. He thrashed impotently, struggling to lift his head above the mud, to draw in a proper breath, but hands pushed him back under, and he breathed mud in, swallowed it until it smothered his screams and held him immobile in a viscous tomb of mud.

“Mike. Hey, wake up.”

A strong hand shook his shoulder, and he struggled up from his terror to find Harvey leaning over his bed.

“Whoa,” breathed Mike, rubbing his face, which was damp with sweat.

“You okay? You were making some bizarre sounds.”

“You would too if you were choking to death.” He’d said it lightly, but then had to look away from Harvey’s intensely sympathetic expression. “Really, I’m okay. Just a bad dream.”

Harvey hesitated, as if conducting an internal debate, and then perched on the bed next to Mike’s hip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mike shook his head. What he did want was for Harvey to touch him – just a hand on his arm or his leg to ground him back in reality would be nice. “You should have gone home,” he said, plucking at the blanket and thinking about setting his own hand on Harvey’s knee. “Sleeping in that chair has got to be murder on an old guy like you.”

Instead of taking offense, Harvey smiled at Mike, an almost fond look in his eyes. “I’m not the one laid up in the hospital because a little dirt and water got the better of him.”

Mike laughed in spite of himself. “Can’t argue with that.” He raised his hand and touched the tip of his index finger to Harvey’s hip. “Hey. Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“God, you’re such an attorney. What I want to ask is, could you just tell me….” He poked Harvey again – one, two, three – and then had to force his hand to withdraw back to the blanket. “If you win me, what will you do with me?” He waited a few seconds, watching Harvey’s face, which gave nothing away. “You really won’t tell me?” He went back to poking at Harvey’s hip, lingering a bit longer with each touch, until he was almost petting Harvey with his index finger. “Please?”

Harvey’s hand closed around Mike’s, stopping his movements. Mike nearly stopped breathing at the realization that they were all but holding hands. Harvey’s palm was dry and cool, his grip firm.

“What do you think, Mike?”

_Nothing much, at the moment._ He had to force himself to remember what they’d been talking about. Oh, right.

“I think…” The phrase was ironic, since his mind had blanked out and he couldn’t seem to think at all. “I think you’ll do whatever pleases you,” he finally whispered.

“Now you’re getting it.” Keeping his eyes locked on Mike’s, he used his thumb to caress Mike’s inner wrist. “I can feel your pulse. It’s racing like crazy. Should I call the nurse?”

Mike gulped and shook his head.

Harvey lifted Mike’s wrist to his mouth and placed smooth soft lips against it. The tip of his tongue flicked out and licked a tiny stripe along Mike’s pulse point. “So sweet,” he murmured.

If Mike’s heart had been racing before, now he feared it might set off alarms. Just that barest of touches had him growing hard and gasping for breath. Trying to lighten the mood, he said breathlessly, “You’re not about to sprout fangs right now, are you?”

Harvey gave him a wicked smile. “What would you do if I did?” He kissed Mike’s wrist again, this time adding considerably more tongue. When he lifted off, Mike shivered at the feel of Harvey’s breath wafting over his moist skin. Harvey went in for a third taste, sucking and licking, and adding a scrape of – definitely fangless – teeth. “Would you offer yourself up to me?”

Mike pulled his wrist from Harvey’s grasp, not meeting any resistance, and resting his hand on Harvey’s upper thigh, as if he had the right to do so. “I might.” He stared at Harvey’s mouth, willing him to lean down and kiss him, just once. When Harvey shifted on the bed, Mike’s grip on him tightened and his eyelids began to drift shut in anticipation.

But Harvey only chuckled and stood up, moving back to his chair in the corner. “Really, Mike? Did you think I was going to jump you in your hospital bed?”

_No, but I was hoping._

Mike turned on his side, away from Harvey. It made it easier to speak certain truths if they weren’t looking at one another. “Maybe? You’re not the easiest guy to read. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect from you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Harvey didn’t answer right away. Mike was nearly asleep again when he heard him say, “You’ll know soon enough.”

And just what the hell was that supposed to mean? Mike decided he was too sleepy to care, and let sleep overtake him – a restful sleep which was, thankfully, both dream and mud free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays to all you beautiful, wonderful people!


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re looking a little puffy there, Mike,” said Kendra, first thing Monday morning. “Coming off another wild weekend?”

“No.” He continued sorting through the latest pile of useless mail in his inbox

Undeterred by Mike’s clipped response, Kendra continued, “You should do a cleanse. I’ve got a great one. I’ll email it to you.”

He contorted his face into what he hoped would pass for a smile. “Great. Thanks.”

Physically, he felt almost back to normal, and had thought his appearance had improved until Kendra chose to comment on it. Even aside from that, he was grumpy and out of sorts, and it was all Harvey’s fault.

By the time Harvey drove him home Sunday afternoon, Mike had begun to believe that he’d dreamed that erotically charged moment in his hospital room, that no wrists had been molested, and no transfer of saliva had taken place. Despite Harvey’s silence on the matter, Mike felt as if he’d been branded, and even though no visible mark remained, he imagined that he could still feel Harvey’s lips and tongue and teeth on his skin.

The problem was, when morning arrived, Harvey had retreated back behind his wall of politeness and snark, and for reasons that probably involved some degree of cowardice, Mike fell in line with the pretense, aiding and abetting Harvey’s wordless denial.

He had been half expecting Harvey to at least bring up Mike’s continuing participation in the game, and had been prepared to staunchly insist that he would continue, mainly to show Louis that there were no hard feelings. Harvey had said nothing on that subject either, and so Mike let that pass as well.

Just before Harvey dropped him off, Mike did finally remark, as if it was nothing more than an interesting piece of trivia, “Did you know that Louis used to date Sheila Sasz?”

Harvey barely reacted. “Of course,” he said in that annoying, know-it-all tone he adopted sometimes. That was all. No mention of Mike’s Harvard aspirations or Harvey’s as yet unfulfilled promise.

All in all, an unsatisfying end to another rollercoaster ride of a weekend. And now here it was, Monday morning, he was back at work, and faced with his inquisitive co-workers, all of whom remarked, using varying levels of tact, how unhealthy and dissipated he appeared. He wasn’t feeling up to delivering another mind-your-own-damn-business speech, so he nodded, gave monosyllabic responses, and waded hip deep into the piles of work already waiting for him.

At ten thirty, a box containing one dozen “Litt Up” mugs arrived for him, along with a somewhat generic sounding apology note, and a $100 Starbucks gift card. Of course, his nosy co-workers felt compelled to crowd around and tease him on this bounty. He brushed them off with a promise to take them all out for coffee one day soon, and silently wished he could take up skeet shooting, because the mugs would make excellent targets. He put the box under his desk and used his foot to shove it as far out of sight as it would go.

 

None of the billing specialists saw much outside of the department that month. Draft bills poured in, final bills poured out, and attorneys who had never shown their faces in the department all year were suddenly rushing in with piles of marked up draft bills, or consulting tensely with their specialist over what other unbilled time still remained in the system that they could use to pad their year-end bonus just that much more. Many of them left behind gift cards, or soap collections, or bottles of expensive alcohol, or baskets filled with exotic chocolates which, judging from the remarks Mike heard muttered by his co-workers, were destined for the re-gifting pile.

Kendra was winning the holiday largesse competition – and evidently the rest of the ladies in the department absolutely considered it a competition. Mike wasn’t doing too badly himself. Besides the thank you gift, Louis also presented him with a gift card in a ridiculously high amount to one of the better department stores in Manhattan. He’d tucked that one away quickly, knowing it would only bring more speculation his way. His other attorneys ponied up nicely as well, and soon he judged he had enough sweets to eat himself into a diabetic coma, and enough alcohol to get him through the looming solo Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

As the month progressed, he saw nothing arrive from Harvey, and wondered if the man’s generosity extended only to clients, other attorneys and indispensable assistants.

 

Saturday morning, a week after the incident at _Lotus Moon_ , Mike had a visitor at his apartment. He was still in his sleep attire – pajama pants and t-shirt – and was halfway through his first cup of coffee when someone knocked on the door. A look through the peephole revealed a woman he didn’t recognize. He unlocked the door, opened it up and waited for the stranger to explain herself

“I’m Delaney,” she said by way of introduction. She had bright red hair wound up in a messy bun secured with chopsticks, thick purple hipster glasses, and wore a silk turquoise flowered dress, belted at the waist, that Mike mentally labelled “rockabilly chic.” She held a suit bag draped over one arm, and in her other hand she carried a Captain America lunch box.

“Okay,” he said, and took a sip of coffee.

Delaney sighed. “Didn’t Louis give you a head’s up? Nope, I can see by that blank look on your face that he did not.” She lifted the suit bag slightly. “Just consider me your fairy godmother, here to get you ready for the ball.”

“The ball?” Without thinking, he stepped back to let her in.

“Prom. Holiday party. Whatever.”

His brain had started to wake up, and he realized what this was about. “Is that a tux?” he asked her.

“Yahtzee. Now go put this on so I can poke you with pins and get back to the shop. And don’t even think about going commando, Sparky.”

Five minutes later, Mike was modeling his new tuxedo for Delaney. He had to admit, it looked pretty damn good.

Delaney seemed to agree, as she nodded her approval. “I am good. This pleases me. I’m going to let the hem down a smidge and give you another inch or two in the crotch – you virile young stallion, you. Shoulders look superb. And that ass.” She brought her fingers to her lips and made a kissing sound. “ _Tres magnifique_. What is your secret?”

“Um. I ride my bike a lot.”

She grimaced. “Too much work. I’ll keep my flab.” She measured and pinned and jotted down notes. “All right. Strip. I’ll send you the finished product before six. You gonna be around?” She began efficiently packing pins, measuring tape and chalk back into the lunchbox.

Mike carefully removed the tuxedo and stood in front of Delaney in only his underpants. “I’ll be here all night.”

“That surprises me.” She winked at him. “With that ass, I’d think you’d be a busy guy. You on Grindr?”

“Er, no.”

“You should think about it.” With Mike’s help, she zipped the tuxedo back up in the suit bag. “All right, Sparky, I should depart in a glowing ball of light like a proper fairy godmother, but I left my wand at home, so I’ll just be all boring and regular and take the stairs. Have a nice time at the ball. Hope you land your prince.”

He saw her to the door and watched her clomp down the stairs in her red satin platform wedgies.

“Wow,” he whispered, and went inside for more coffee.

 

******

By the Friday of the holiday party, Mike hadn’t had any communication with either Harvey or Donna. He’d been almost too busy to notice. He had noticed, though, and their silence, surprisingly, hurt. He dutifully delivered Donna’s coffee each morning, but somehow she managed to be away from her desk every day at five minutes to eight. Sometimes he spotted Harvey in his office with the door closed, working at his computer, or talking on the phone. Mike was sure Harvey must see him, but he never acknowledged his presence.

He supposed he could understand Harvey’s behavior. They were at work, and both Mike and Harvey were legally obligated to keep anything pertaining to the monthly poker game a secret. And, Mike was forced to admit, even if Harvey did feel the same attraction Mike felt, he wouldn’t want to act on it publicly. Mike’s social and professional standing did not even remotely measure up to someone like Harvey Specter. Starting a relationship with Mike would be equivalent to boning the hired help. It might be one of the perks of Harvey’s position, but not something you would go bragging about to your friends at the Harvard Club

Still, a quick smile or even discreet nod of the head shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mike knew that part of his glumness had to do with his annual bout of holiday depression, something that he’d suffered through ever since he lost his parents. This year would be his first Christmas since Grammy passed away. Trevor was still distancing himself, and Mike was keeping his own distance from everyone he’d known during his dealing years. Consequently, the size of his social circle these days added up to a grand total of zero.

He’d hoped to spend some time with Vanessa. In fact, she had initially agreed to be his plus one at the firm holiday party. The morning of the party, she called him to cancel. She was chasing a hot lead in one of her cases involving spousal abuse and industrial espionage, which required her to fly to Miami on short notice.

“I’m so sorry darling,” she told him when she called him from the airport. “I was looking forward to it. Your firm puts on such a nice spread. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time, even without me.”

“Will you at least be back in time for the next, er….” He glanced around the department to make sure no one was listening to his conversation, and then lowered his voice. “For the next game?” he finished hopefully. He wouldn’t mind spending a weekend or two with Vanessa, if she won. And if Donna wasn’t called to substitute for her again, or for Paul, there might be a chance.

“I hope so, but I simply can’t say for sure right now.”

They said goodbye and hung up, and he sat at his desk for a few moments, staring blankly at his computer monitor, and picturing his beautiful new tuxedo that fit him like a glove, hanging in his closet at home.

Just then, Lisa stopped in front of his desk, holding out a plate of cookies that one of the payroll specialists had dropped off earlier that morning. “Cookie?” she offered. “The jam thumbprint ones are killer.”

“Hmm? Oh, no thanks. I’ve been gorging on the nut bread from the receptionists.”

She studied his face. “What’s the matter? Did Gramble send her bills back for more revisions?”

Mike sighed deeply. “Yes, but that’s not what’s bugging me. My date for tonight just cancelled.”

“What a jerk. What did he do that for?”

“She,” Mike corrected. He saw the confusion on Lisa’s face. “A friend. Why? Did you actually believe I could find a legitimate date to bring?” He knew his self-pity was showing, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Lisa perched on the edge of his desk and absently bit the head off of a gingerbread man. “Yes, Mike. I actually did. You’re cute and you’re about the nicest person I know. You’re even legitimately employed now. Any guy would be lucky to be your boyfriend, but how will they ever find you? You never go out anymore. You turn down all of my attempts to fix you up. And I guess you’ve never heard about a little thing called internet dating sites. There’s about a million of them now. I’m sure you’ve developed a deep, meaningful relationship with your right hand, but that can’t satisfy you forever.”

Kendra’s cackle, mixed with Ruthie’s amused snort of laughter, woke Mike to the fact that they had attracted an audience. Both women stood behind Lisa, and now moved closer, crowding the front of Mike’s desk.

“You need help getting a date?” asked Kendra. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? My cousin Jerome is available, and he dances like an angel. He’ll even let you lead.” She leaned closer, leering at Mike. “As long as he gets to lead later on in the night, if you get what I’m saying.”

Ruthie elbowed her in the ribs. “Gross. I’ve met Jerome. He’s cute and all, but he’s dancing in a revival of _Cats. Cats,_ Mike. I mean, come on.”

“Are you disrespecting my cousin? Because if you are, we _will_ have a problem.”

“No, no,” Ruthie assured her. “You know I love your family. I just think Mike would do better with someone a little more…settled.”

Kendra didn’t look happy, but she did allow, “It’s true Jerome is on the slutty side, but Mike needs a date, and he needs one fast.” She narrowed her eyes at Ruthie. “You got someone else in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m eighty percent sure my daughter’s drama teacher is gay. I bet he’d go with you, Mike. And if things work out, who knows? Beth might get the lead in the next play.”

“Oh, now that’s just crass,” Kendra said. “You’re going to talk bad about Jerome and then go trying to pimp Mike out to help your daughter?”

“That’s not what I was doing. I was only thinking out loud.”

“Those were some damn crass thoughts. Plus you said yourself you don’t even know for sure if the man likes boys.”

Mike raised his hand, trying to get their attention. “Excuse me?” He gave Lisa a look that clearly begged, _help me_ , but she was too busy laughing to intercede. He jumped a little when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find Heidi handing him a wallet-sized photograph. He took it from her and examined what appeared to be a studio portrait of an angelic looking, dark-haired young man.

“My son Matt,” Heidi murmured. “He’s an accountant. And he’s one hundred percent gay. Would you like me to call him?”

Kendra and Ruthie had paused in their bickering to listen to Heidi. “Matt the virgin?” Kendra blurted out, voice incredulous. “You seriously want your co-worker to pop your son’s cherry for you?”

“Kendra!” shouted three scandalized voices.

“What? I thought we were being real, here.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, broken when Mike cleared his throat.

“Look, you guys,” he said, “I appreciate all the offers, but I’d just as soon not bring a blind date to the firms’ holiday party. And for future reference, please don’t try fixing me up with any of your family members, because how awkward would that be, right?” He saw Ruthie take a breath to speak, probably to point out that the maybe-gay drama teacher wasn’t family, so he added, “And no teachers of family members either.” Ruthie’s face fell. “Anyway, I think I’ll just skip the party.”

“No,” protested Lisa. “You can’t miss it. You have to sit at our table for dinner. Lots of people go solo.”

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

“Um, well….”

Ruthie spoke up for her, “Like Jessica Pearson. And Louis Litt. At least half of those trolls in IT. Oh, and Harvey Specter, himself. I’ve worked here for ten years, and I’ve never seen Harvey Specter bring a date to the holiday party.”

“On the other hand,” added Kendra, “have you ever seen him go home alone?”

The three other women laughed knowingly.

“What do you mean?” asked Mike.

“I’ve said too much.” Kendra went back to her desk, and the other women moved away as well.

“Are you saying he hooks up with people from the firm? Or with clients?”

Kendra shrugged, gazed fixed on her computer monitor. “Firm, clients, wait staff…the Great Harvey Specter does not discriminate.”

Mike wanted to question her further, to ask whether that was just idle gossip, or if she had concrete examples she could give him. Just then, however, Carla made a rare appearance, poking her head out of her office long to scold, “Ladies, I don’t hear enough keyboards clacking away. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

Mike cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Yes, Mike,” said Carla, “that includes you.”

“Call me a lady again,” he muttered under his breath, “I dare you.”

“What was that?” She took a couple of steps toward his desk.

“I said, will we see you at the party tonight?” He gave her a fake smile.

She stared back at him without a trace of humor on her dour face. “Not if I see you first,” she finally replied. She waited a beat, as if daring any of them to say anything. When no one did, she returned to her office and closed the door firmly behind herself.

“Oh wow, how original,” Mike sneered. Keeping his hands underneath his desk, he gifted his boss with a double bird, delivering the gestures with heartfelt fervor. “And here’s my present for you. Happy fucking holidays.”

Belatedly, he realized that Kendra had been watching his antics. She didn’t say anything, but he saw her bite her lip hard, and nod her head in apparent approval.

 

******

 

 _Back at the scene of the crime – literally,_ thought Mike, as his cab deposited him in front of the Chilton Hotel.

This was where Trevor had sent him on his first drug buy. He’d almost been caught, but he’d spotted the undercover cops in time, and had sweated it out in a supply closet for over an hour while he called Trevor and waited for instructions on what to do. The transaction was moved to a diner three blocks away, and Mike was so impressed by the amount of money he’d earned in only a few hours’ time, that he’d hopped on board the drug selling train and not looked back for over two years.

He felt a prickle of unease run up his spine now as he entered the front door of the hotel, as if someone would dramatically point their finger at him, or alarms would go off and he’d be dragged out of there in handcuffs. None of that occurred. He strolled in wearing his tuxedo and nice wool overcoat, and followed the sign for the Pearson Specter Holiday Dinner up a wide staircase to the Astor Ballroom. In the foyer, he handed his coat to an attendant, drew in a deep breath, and entered the venue.

The space was divided into two distinct parts. He stood in the reception area, with bars set up at both ends, and wait staff circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne. Through a set of double doors, Mike spotted the dining area, crammed full of round tables already set and decorated with poinsettias and festive baubles. Overhead and along the walls, tiny colored lights twinkled frenetically. A string quartet was set up in a corner of the reception area, sawing out tasteful and vaguely Christmassy music.

The reception room was already well populated. Clumps of immaculately dressed attorneys and staff mingled with favored clients and their dates for the evening. Mike headed for the nearest bar and ordered two vodka tonics. He guzzled the first one straight down, and held the second nestled in the cocktail napkin provided, scanning the room for familiar faces. Lisa had promised to meet him here, along with Keith, her boyfriend, but he couldn’t locate her in the crowd.

He accepted some stuffed mushrooms from one of the waiters, after quizzing him to make sure they hadn’t snuck any shellfish into the broiled fungi. They were cheesy and delicious, and he stalked the waiter across the room, hoping for more. Before he could catch up with him, a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to discover that it was none other than the lovely Rachel Zane who had latched onto him.

“Mike,” she greeted him brightly. “How are you? Have you tried the mini-quiches? They’re delicious.”

“Uh.”   He swallowed a half-chewed mushroom and washed it down with the remainder of his drink. Rachel looked delicious herself in an ivory, body-hugging lace and crochet dress that hit her just above her shapely ankles. Her glittery bronze stilettos made Mike’s mouth water with jealousy. “No,” he finally replied. “That’s a great dress.”

She gave a happy sounding laugh. “You look pretty awesome yourself. Who are you wearing?”

He shrugged. “Delaney?”

“Wow. I’ve never heard of him, but that tux is gorgeous.” She made a twirling motion with her index finger. “Spin,” she ordered.

He glanced self-consciously around them, but didn’t see any familiar faces nearby, so he did her bidding and began to turn slowly in a circle.

Rachel whistled softly. “Nice. Logan wasn’t kidding about you.”

That froze him for a second in mid-spin. He wasn’t supposed to know Logan. He unfroze and turned around to face her. “Who?”

She bit her lip prettily and leaned in to whisper, “I know, Mike.”

His mind blanked out as he searched for an appropriate – and non-actionable – response. “I can’t talk about this,” was all he could come up with.

She studied him for a few seconds, and a shrewd look entered her eyes. Keeping a hand firmly on his arm, she scanned the crowd and then raised her arm, signaling someone that Mike couldn’t see. Moments later, Logan Sanders himself strode up to them and wrapped his arm around Rachel’s waist. She in turn dropped Mike’s arm, giving him the chance to take a step back from the two of them.

“Mike Ross,” said Rachel, “I’d like you to meet Logan Sanders. Logan, this is Mike Ross, who works in the billing department.”

Going right along with his girlfriend’s playacting, Logan extended his hand to Mike. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

Mike shook hands with Logan, who gave him the same avid look he always did. Mike kept a nervous eye on Rachel, and to his surprise, she didn’t bat a perfectly curled eyelash at Logan’s behavior. Instead, her smile grew broader, and her gaze became weirdly speculative.

“Can I get you another drink, Mike?” asked Logan. “I was just on my way to the bar.”

“Oh, hell yes. A vodka tonic, please.”

Mike and Rachel both watched Logan weave his way with confidence through the growing throng. He certainly looked good walking away, Mike admitted to himself, and then felt a stab of guilt. He probably shouldn’t be ogling Rachel’s boyfriend when she was standing right beside him.

“It is a nice view, isn’t it?” she asked, apparently reading his mind.

He chuckled, abashed. “Sorry. Habit.”

“It’s fine, Mike,” she assured him. “There’s no penalty for looking.” Her mouth quirked and she began biting her lip again. This was either her tell for nervousness or impending mischief, he couldn’t decide which. “We, um, we sort of wanted to discuss something with you,” she said.

“No kidding. You and Logan?” He raised his glass to his mouth and upended it, but only got the rattle of ice and a stray drop or two for his troubles. “Do I even want to ask about what?”

She hesitated, and then grabbed his arm again. “Come on, there’s some seats in the corner over there. Let’s sit and talk.”

As she half dragged him to the corner of the room, Mike cast desperate glances around him, searching for Lisa, or any of the other billing specialists. No one suddenly materialized to rescue him, and so he found himself sitting cozily on a plush loveseat with a woman he hardly knew, whose boyfriend had made it abundantly clear that given the first opportunity, he would love to plow the living hell out of Mike’s ass.

_Awkward, to say the least._

“Calm down, Mike,” said Rachel, patting him on the knee. “I understand why you can’t talk about it, but there are no secrets between Logan and me. I know about the game. And I know that the chances of him winning the jackpot any time soon are slim to none. But Christmas is in less than a week.”

Mike raised one eyebrow. “ _Non sequitur_ much?”

She was biting her lip again, and it was definitely from nerves this time. “Here come our drinks,” she said, sounding all kinds of relieved.

Logan handed down Mike’s vodka tonic and a glass of red wine for Rachel, and then surprised Mike by dropping into the sit next to him. Mike moved over to make room, and found himself the heavily perspiring filling in a Rachel and Logan sandwich.

Logan clapped his hand down on Mike’s leg, a bit too far above his knee for Mike’s peace of mind. “This is nice isn’t it?” said Logan. “You gotta love the holidays.”

Mike drank and nodded, and drank some more. “You know it,” he managed to choke out. Logan had started rubbing his leg, up and down from knee to thigh and back again, over and over.

Logan looked over Mike’s head at Rachel. “Did you….?”

She shook her head. “We didn’t get that far. Maybe you could explain the situation better than me.”

“Sure, babe.” Logan sipped his glass of whiskey and draped his arm around Mike’s shoulder. “Rachel’s a great girl, isn’t she Mike? I just think the world of her.”

“Okay,” was all Mike kind think to say.

“I’d do anything for her. I want to give her the Christmas present of her dreams, and that’s where you come in.”

Logan’s monologue was making Mike uncomfortable, and he stared out into the room in search of anything else to hold his attention. He spotted Harvey flirting with a pretty dark-haired woman, his hand on her back. Mike gulped down more of his drink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he told Logan. “Could you just go ahead and spell it out for me?”

Logan laughed easily, tightening his hold on Mike. At the same time, Rachel placed her hand on his knee in a subtly possessive manner.

“Mike,” said Logan, “Rachel may look like a sweet and innocent young lady – ”

“Not at all,” Mike retorted, as Rachel kneaded his leg. “Not even a little bit.”

“ – but she’s got a wild streak…a bit of a kinky, freaky side.”

“This is information I don’t need to know. In fact, I think I see my friends over there.” He tried to extricate himself from their twin grasps, but was too firmly wedged between them, and could not get proper leverage.

Rachel and Logan exchanged looks, and then Rachel took up the explanation. They were quite the little tag team, Mike mused.

“Be honest with me, Mike. You find Logan attractive, right?”

What was he supposed to say to that? “Sure. Sure.” He stared down at the ice in his glass, wishing that another drink would magically appear.

“Well, we both think you’re a cute guy, and just the sort we’d like to… _incorporate_ into our lives.”

Mike tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “You guys, I may be a little drunk, but I swear it sounded like you just asked me to join a threesome with you two.”

“Of course not,” said Rachel, sounding affronted. “I just want to watch.”

Mike had not seen that coming, and okay, maybe he truly was more than a little drunk, but… _what the hell?_ He was silent as he tried to marshal his thoughts, and he could almost feel Rachel’s anxiety building. Logan, on the other hand, seemed unfazed as always, his arrogant half-smile never faltering.

“Here’s the thing,” Mike finally began. “I’m just a simple kid from Brooklyn….”

He trailed off when Logan gave a bark of laughter.

“Mike, I swear, you are too precious for words.” He leaned in and practically nuzzled Mike. “I could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner,” he breathed.

“Too bad I’m not on the menu,” Mike huffed. He struggled to stand, and this time Logan and Rachel let him go, and even assisted him in getting back on his feet. He was formulating some dramatic parting words when Logan grabbed his wrist, preventing escape.

“Go enjoy your dinner,” Logan purred. “Take a little time. Think it over. If you’re in, meet us in the downstairs lobby by the gingerbread house when the dancing starts. Just don’t be in too big of a hurry to say no, all right?” Logan inclined his head and murmured, “I swear I’ll take such good care of you. We will all of us have an amazing night, and no one outside of the three of us will ever hear a whisper about this.”

Logan’s thumb rubbed slow circles over Mike’s wrist, and even as he shivered at the touch, he was reminded of Harvey in his hospital room. Who knew his wrist was such an erogenous zone? He tugged, and Logan released him. Mike’s mouth opened, but no words came out, so he gave them a tight nod and turned away, prepared to make desperate small talk with the first person he encountered.

The first person he encountered turned out to be Paul Porter, standing next to his wife, Bianca.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mike groaned, before he could stop himself. He held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry, involuntary response.” He made a move to go around them.

“Wait, Mike,” said Paul. “We have something we’d like to say to you.”

After Mike’s last heart-to-heart discussion with Logan and Rachel, he was more than a little leery. “About….?”

“First of all, an apology. Bianca darling, go ahead.”

Mike expected a sulky, half-assed apology from her, but she stepped closer to him, and in a low, sincere voice, said, “Mike, I am so sorry, and so freaking embarrassed about that night. I’m really glad I missed when I tried to shoot you. So…I hope you can forgive me.”

Could he? Mike was too surprised to by this turn of events to come up with an answer in that moment. He stared at the floor, mostly so he wouldn’t be blinded by her cleavage, which spilled over the front of her strapless red dress in all of its pale, milky splendor.

“Was that okay, Paulie?” she asked her husband.

“Yes, dear. Very well said. And Mike, for my part, I want to thank you. It took this incident for me to finally realize how miserable I’d made Bianca. We’ve done a lot of talking since then, and I think it’s safe to say that we’re happier now than we’ve ever been, even on our honeymoon.”

The reconciled couple cooed sickeningly at one another. Mike could only take so much of their googly eyes, so he murmured, “Glad to hear things worked out for you,” and set out for the bar, a man on a mission.

 

Lisa and Keith finally arrived just before dinner was announced. She flagged down Mike, and he saw that right behind her trailed Ruthie and her husband, Kendra and her boyfriend, and Heidi by herself. They claimed a table together, and since it was set for eight people, it turned out to be for the best that Mike and Heidi had come solo.

The food was fantastic, as promised, and was served with copious amounts of wine. Mike let the conversation at the table wash over him for a while without contributing anything. Most of his attention remained focused on a table across the room that included Logan and Rachel, and Harvey and the unknown dark-haired woman. Whoever she was, she and Harvey certainly seemed familiar with one another. They had their heads together, gossiping and laughing throughout the meal.

Curiosity – and likely too much alcohol – gave him the courage to ask Lisa, “Who is that woman sitting next to Harvey?”

She gave Mike a sharp look, and then peered across the room. “Ah,” she said.

“Ah?”

Lisa reached past Mike and tapped Ruthie’s shoulder. “Check it out. The great Dana Scott is back in town.”

“No way.” She craned her head to see, drawing the attention of everyone else at their table, and before Mike knew what was happening, they were all turned in the direction of Harvey’s table, staring with undisguised interest.

“You guys,” Mike hissed, “don’t be so obvious.”

“Why not?” demanded Kendra. “That little bitch made our life a living hell while she was at the firm.”

“She used to work here?” Mike asked.

“For about half a second. It was during the Pearson Darby regime.” Kendra gave an exaggerated shudder. “We were all assigned to her at one time or another.”

Ruthie nodded, mouth pulled down in disgust. “She was impossible to satisfy.”

Lisa snickered. “That’s probably why she broke up with Harvey Specter.”

Mike coughed as his wine went down the wrong way. “Broke up with? You mean they were….?”

“Schtupping?” Heidi provided. “Like bunnies. Building security claims they did it on his desk more than once, and they’ve got the video files to prove it.”

“Ew,” said Ruthie.

“Ew, nothing,” Kendra countered. “That’s a sex tape I wouldn’t mind taking a look at.”

“I can talk to Ronnie downstairs,” Heidi offered.

The rest of the billers voiced their approval of that idea. Mike looked past Lisa and met Keith’s amused gaze. Lisa’s boyfriend rolled his eyes, and Mike mimicked the gesture.

Deciding to throw some much needed ice water on their scheme, Mike waited until the excited chatter died down and said, “You all realize what will happen to you if Harvey finds out about this, right? Hello? Anybody? You’ll lose your jobs, that’s what.”

That took their wind out of their sails, and one by one they grudgingly admitted that Mike was right.

Kendra sighed, “I suppose we’ll just have to use our imaginations.”

After that, the conversation turned to other topics, eventually circling back around, as it always did, to work.

Dessert and coffee were served, and then Jessica Pearson got up on the stage to make what Kendra called her “rah rah” speech about the firm and the successes they’d had that year.

As if his stupid eyeballs had a mind of their own, Mike’s gaze travelled again and again to Harvey. Dana Scott’s arm rested on the back of his chair, and every so often she leaned in to rest her head against his shoulder.

Mike missed whatever Jessica was saying, but she must have called Harvey up to join her because he liberated himself from Dana Scott’s tentacles and strode up to stand next to Jessica for a little speechifying of his own. Unlike Jessica, he didn’t even pretend to want to be there. His remarks were short and to the point: “Great job everyone. Keep up the good work.”  The applause that followed seemed to Mike entirely out of proportion to his generic words.

Harvey left the stage, and Jessica began announcing the winners of the door prizes.

“Door prizes?” Mike asked Lisa. “What door prizes? Why didn’t I know about this?”

Everyone else at the table lifted a short strip of red tickets.

“You were supposed to get some when you came in,” Lisa explained. “There are gift cards, free airfare, hotel vouchers, all kinds of great stuff.”

Mike gave an unhappy huff. He wouldn’t have minded some airfare right about now. Preferably one-way to the other side of the globe.

Since he wouldn’t be winning anything, he tuned out the announcements and applause. He watched Harvey and Dana Scott rendezvous at the double doors, and disappear from sight. Mike couldn’t prevent the long, extended, sigh that escaped him, or the new wave of gloom that descended on him. What had he even been thinking, pining after Harvey? Of course Harvey wasn’t interested in him. He’d only been amusing himself with Mike, that seemed clear now.

Chest tight with resentment and something else that felt like grief, Mike returned his attention to Logan and Rachel, the former of whom caught him looking and winked in his direction. Mike felt a sudden, unexpected flush of pure _want_ pour through him.  He knew that the alcohol had a lot to do with it, but he couldn’t deny that he felt hornier than he had in months. Was he actually considering their request? Could he really be _that guy_? He forced himself to stop shooting glances at the couple, and pretended to listen to his co-workers’ conversation, which currently consisted of a re-airing of their many grievances about their job.

He only half-heard their all too familiar bitching, because his mind was busy imagining how it might go down with Logan and Rachel, of how it would feel to have a dirty little audience of one while he and Logan went at it. His dick evidently thought it was a marvelous idea. He adjusted his napkin over his lap and resisted the urge to fan his face. Oh yeah, he was giving it some serious consideration.

 _Fuck being a simple kid from Brooklyn anyway_.

If Harvey wasn’t interested in him, there was no reason for Mike to go wanting tonight. How many times in one’s life did one get the opportunity for something a little crazy, such as Logan and Rachel were proposing? Not many, he was willing to bet.

He polished off his glass of wine, and as a swing band filed in and began setting up on the stage, Mike made meaningful eye contact with Logan, gave him a series of twitchy winks, and excused himself from his table on the pretext of visiting the men’s room.

Five minutes later, with his overcoat draped over one arm, he stood by the gingerbread house in the lobby, heart racing in an insane mixture of panic and lust.

 _I’m going on an adventure,_ his mind screamed every few seconds, alternating with, _what the fuck am I doing?_

Then he heard the first few notes of dance music drift down the stairs. This was it. Now or never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your comments and kudos, and thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments on the previous chapter. Too bad this isn't a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story so that everyone would be happy with the course of events in this chapter. Occasionally I feel like ducking when I post a chapter, and this is one of those times.

Mike was occupied with leaning over and marveling at all of the insane detail that had gone into the gingerbread mansion in the lobby, and weighing the risks of prying a wafer cookie from the roof to pop n his mouth. He heard a familiar voice, and looked up in surprise to see Donna walk in the front door of the hotel, accompanied by a middle-aged blonde woman in glasses, who was giving off a definite "naughty schoolteacher" vibe. They stopped close enough to Mike that he could hear Donna urge the strange woman, "Go on up. Just don't startle him too badly, all right? I don't know if his heart could take it."

They embraced in that polite, not-quite-friends way in which women seemed to excel, and then the other woman moved to the stairs, ascending slowly, as if fighting a case of nerves.

"Cutting out early?"

Mike jumped as Donna spoke right next to his ear. How had the woman moved so fast?

"Yeah," he replied, sidestepping to put some distance between them. "Can't stay out too late or I'll turn back into a pumpkin."

"You realize that Cinderella never actually started out as a pumpkin, right? People always get that wrong. So, was the party that bad?"

Mike shrugged, turning to face her while trying to keep one eye on the staircase. He almost forgot what he'd meant to say when he got a good look at her midnight blue satin racer-back gown. "It was all right. At least I didn't show up two hours late. And by the way, hubba hubba."

She gave what sounded like an unwilling laugh. "Right back at you, Mr. Bond. You should wear a tuxedo more often. And my tardiness is excused. Couldn't be helped. Friday night traffic, the week before Christmas? Terrible."

"I made it here from Brooklyn, with time to spare."

"I had considerably farther to go, smarty pants."

"Oh?"

"Yep. I was picking up a present for a friend. In Cambridge."

Forgetting for the moment about the imminent arrival of the Orgy Twins, Mike turned to face Donna directly. "Cambridge? As in Harvard?"

"Yup."

"Yikes. Must be a darn good friend."

She gave a non-committal hum and rocked back and forth in her high heels.

Mike laughed. "Spill it, lady. I can clearly see you're busting to tell someone."

The grin she'd been fighting broke out full force. "Harvey sent me up there to fetch Louis Litt's lady love."

Mike gaped at her. "That was Sheila Sazs you came in with?"

"Ooh, look at you, all in the loop and everything. I'm impressed."

"She looks like a handful. Wow. Too bad Harvey won't be there to witness the stirring reunion." Mike's depression crept back as he remembered where Harvey was.

Donna's grin froze, and then faded away entirely. "He left already? You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack. He ducked out with one Dana Scott not twenty minutes ago. Not a popular woman in the billing department, by the way."

She stared at him as if she was looking straight through him. "Did he now?" she murmured. "I wonder why?"

An incredulous laugh escaped Mike. "It seemed pretty obvious to me."

"Well, shit. That would be disastrous." Her gaze sharpened on Mike. "No offense, but are you a reliable witness? You seem...impaired at the moment."

"Oh, I'm good and impaired." Right on cue, he swayed precariously for half a second, and leaned back against the wall for support.

Donna glanced worriedly in the direction of the staircase and Mike found himself doing the same, for different reasons.

"I'd better get up there," she said. "I certainly hope you're planning on taking a cab home."

Mike gave her a smug smirk. "What do you know...it finally happened. You like me."

"You wish. Maybe I just don't want you taking out any innocent bystanders with your bike."

"Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I'm waiting for my ride."

And then, finally -- _finally --_ he spotted Logan and a giggling Rachel walking down the stairs. Logan had one arm linked with Rachel's, and from his other hand a bottle of champagne dangled.   Mike kept his attention on Logan, and so saw the moment he spotted Mike, and then a millisecond later spotted Donna. His smug expression never changed, and gave nothing away. If Logan ever harbored any homicidal urges, Mike mused, he would doubtless have a highly successful career as a serial killer.

"Donna," Logan greeted her with a nod. "Mike, you ready to head out?"

Even impaired as he was, Mike caught the shrewd look on Donna's face. "The three of you are leaving together?" she asked, all innocence.

Logan nodded amiably. "Sure. I promised to take Mike."

A fresh round of giggles gripped Rachel. "You'll take him, all right," she murmured, probably meaning for only Logan to hear her. Mike heard, though, and so did Donna, judging by the immediate disapproval displayed on her face.

Unflappable Logan refused to be flapped. He draped an arm over Mike's shoulders, clunking him with the champagne bottle, and steered both him and Rachel towards the door. "Have a great weekend," he threw over his shoulder at Donna.

The last that Mike saw of Donna, she had her phone in one hand, and was practically sprinting up the staircase.

 

******

 

During the short cab ride to Logan's apartment, Mike once again found himself the "filling," as they all squeezed into the backseat, with him in the middle. Rachel playfully undid his bowtie, laughing that she wanted to open her present.

"Maybe we should wait," Mike suggested when her nimble fingers dropped to the front of his pants to work on the fastening.

"We're close," Logan assured him. "Just a few more blocks." He leaned down and captured Mike's mouth with his own in a scorching kiss that lit up Mike's nerve endings like a Christmas tree, and distracted him enough that Rachel managed to unzip him and sneak her hand down his pants before he knew what was happening, stroking him through his underpants with a practiced touch.

"What do you know about that?" she said, eyes shining with mischief. "A girl managed to get you hard."

Mike grabbed her hand and removed it from his crotch. "Careful, or you’ll give me girl cooties. And what happened to just wanting to watch?"

Rachel cracked up laughing while Logan chivalrously zipped him back up. Mike met the gaze of the scandalized driver in the rearview mirror.

" _Jee-sus,_ " muttered the cabbie as he pulled to the curb in front of a tall apartment building. "Here we are, folks. Am I gonna have to Lysol that back seat again?"

"It's all good," Logan answered, handing the man a wad of bills that must have included a generous tip, based on his mollified expression. "Have yourself a Merry Christmas, man."

They piled out of the back seat.

"Play safe, kids," the driver replied, before squealing away from the curb.

Mike found himself swept through the front doors of the building, and onto the elevator, where Logan backed him against the wall and kissed him beneath his ear and down his neck to his collarbone. By the time the doors opened again on the tenth floor, Mike was panting and rubbing against Logan. Rachel had to grab Logan's arm and practically yank him out of the elevator and into the hallway.

Seconds later, Mike's back hit the front door to Logan's apartment, where Logan demonstrated his skill in multi-tasking by taking Mike's mouth again in a slow, wet, thorough kiss, while working his key to unlock the door. Rachel, apparently not wanting to be left out, plastered herself to Logan's back and reached around them to palm Mike's ass, bringing his crotch up snugly against Logan's. Logan groaned into his mouth, the door popped open, and they all stumbled inside.

Mike's chest was heaving, as if he'd been running for miles. _What now,_ he wondered? How did something like this work?

Logan saved him from having to ask. "I'll meet you two in the bedroom." He handed the champagne to Rachel. "Get that open and I'll grab the glasses."

So Mike followed Rachel to a spacious, airy bedroom with minimal décor and a big, sturdy looking king size bed as the focal point. She set the bottle next to the bed and turned her back to Mike. When he only stared at her, she gave him a quizzical look over her shoulder.

"Well? Unzip me, please."

_Oh, right._ The zipper ran from her mandarin collar, to halfway down her curvaceous ass. The sound it made as Mike tugged it all the way down, was decidedly naughty. While she maneuvered her way out of the dress, Mike took off his overcoat and draped it over a chair. Next, he slid off the tuxedo jacket.

"Grab a hanger from the closet," Rachel suggested. "That thing is too beautiful to get it all wrinkled."

Mike turned his back on her to do as she’d suggested, and when he turned back around, she stood before him in a lacy white bra, matching panties, and her glittery bronze fuck-me stilettos. Objectively speaking, she was sexy as hell, and would doubtless have overloaded all his circuits and had smoke drifting from his ears if he was wired that way. He gave her what he hoped was a polite, encouraging smile and went to work on the studs holding his shirt closed.

He was bare-chested, barefoot, and halfway out of his pants when Rachel picked up the champagne bottle and set to work opening it up.

Catching a whiff of impending disaster, Mike hopped out of his pants, draped them over the hanger that already held his jacket, shimmied out of his briefs, and slipped them into one of the jacket pockets. Rachel already had both thumbs on either side of the cork, preparing to ease it out. Mike scrambled into bed under the sheets and duvet, and lifted a pillow to cover his face.

"Mike? What are you doing?"

"No offense, but I've been incredibly accident prone lately. Just trying a little proactive prevention."

She laughed in a way probably intended to imply that he was more than a little nuts. Then the cork made a loud pop and a second later Mike felt it smack into the pillow, right in front of his eye. He lowered the pillow and smirked at Rachel. "You could put someone's eye out."

With wide eyes and a sheepish grin, she stepped out of her shoes and joined him in the bed, setting the bottle back on the nightstand. "Oops."

Logan entered the room carrying three champagne flutes. His dark grey tied spilled out of one of the pockets of his suit jacket. "I hope you didn't start without me." He handed the flutes to Rachel and stripped off his clothes as if he was doing a thirty second drill. Everything stayed where it hit the floor. Leaving the lights on, he slid into bed next to Mike.

Rachel had the flutes filled with the fizzy liquid, and once they each had a glass in their hand, Logan raised his. "To...."

He let the unfinished toast hang for a little too long, and then three voices filled in the blank space all at once.

"To Christmas," Logan finished.

"To Mike," Rachel supplied.

"To getting laid," Mike muttered. He laughed nervously and drained his glass. He handed his empty flute to Rachel and lay back against the pillows. "Let's do this."

Logan smiled across Mike at Rachel. "Babe? Mike is my present to you. How do you want him?"

Rachel leaned over Mike, grinning down at him and pinching his nipple, and some small, unimpaired portion of Mike's brain whispered, _uh oh,_ even as he arched up into her touch.

"Let's put him on his knees," she finally decreed, as she rummaged through the drawer of the nightstand. "With these on." A pair of handcuffs dangled from her dainty finger.

"Is that okay with you Mike?" Logan asked.

Mike's mouth had gone dry, and he wished he could get another glass of champagne. He nodded his agreement and rolled onto his knees, arms stretched in front of him. The sound of the cuffs clicking into place around his wrists, securing him to the headboard, and the feeling of being controlled, had his dick standing up and taking notice. He had one brief, bad moment when he remembered Bianca Porter, and her plans for him. But Rachel only wanted to watch, and he'd gotten a good look at Logan's equipment, which required absolutely no artificial enhancement.

“Hand me the good lube,” Logan requested.

_The good lube?_ That was encouraging.

Mike spread his knees wider, closing his eyes and offering his ass to Logan. He felt Logan lean across his back, heard him kissing Rachel. Despite how turned on he was, how ready to go, a wave of melancholy washed through him. Then the couple broke apart and seconds later Logan’s lubed finger caressed and tested Mike’s entrance. Mike sighed in pleasure, and bit back a moan as Logan’s finger probed into him. He opened his eyes and found Rachel’s face only inches away, pupils dilated in her wide eyes, and studying him as if he was an exhibit in a museum – or a zoo.

He managed an uncertain smile, and she smiled back and began petting his hair and stroking his ass. “You like that?” she murmured, as Logan worked him open with two fingers.

He opened his mouth to assure both her and Logan that it felt great, but something stopped him. The feeling was pleasurable, absolutely, but Mike felt removed, disconnected. Finally, he nodded. “Sure,” he said. “How about you?” He bit his lip and shifted his ass when Logan brushed his prostate.

“That’s so hot,” she whispered. She knelt up and reached behind herself to unhook her bra, and tossed it to the floor, freeing her smallish breasts. She held up a breast in each hand, as if offering them to Mike. “You want a taste?” she asked Mike breathlessly.

_Did he_? No he did not. What he wanted was for Logan to get the show on the road, to shove him into him and pound him so hard and for so long that he forgot everything – Harvey, Rachel, fear, loneliness, the game. Logan removed his fingers, but instead of reaching for a condom and preparing himself, he turned away so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Babe? You want to give Mike a little show? Come over here and get me ready for him.”

Rachel moved around the bed and knelt between Logan’s spread knees. Mike acknowledged to himself that it was probably wrong to feel such raw jealousy as he watched Rachel lick a slow stripe up Logan’s cock and take the plum-shaped head between her lips. He wanted to be the one tasting Logan and inhaling his musky scent, the one slurping and hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head up and down, fondling Logan’s balls.

Rachel deserved credit for technique and enthusiasm, he was reluctantly forced to admit, but he knew in his heart that he could do better, and wished he had a chance to prove it. Logan cradled Rachel’s head between his palms, leaning back against Mike for support, sucking in a breath, and breathing out on a slow moan when her nose brushed the base of his cock.

Responding to some signal that Mike missed, Rachel pulled off and licked her lips, grinning wickedly up at Logan. He leaned down and kissed her, palming her breasts. Mike could only watch and hope they eventually remembered him, hard and ready, cuffed to the headboard. Maddeningly, however, instead of breaking apart, Rachel climbed up into Logan’s lap, wrapping her legs behind his back and grinding against him while he cupped her ass and thrust upwards.

Mike supposed they looked pretty like that, tangled up together, eyes half-closed, sheened with perspiration and caught up in their passion. By comparison, Mike felt awkward and useless. He began to wonder if they would lose themselves in one another so far that Rachel would be the one to get the benefit of Logan’s impressive erection instead of Mike. It hardly seemed fair.

He was debating whether or not to say anything, whether to protest that he was there for a reason, and it wasn’t to be an unwilling audience to their sweaty hetero fucking, and whether he should point out that Rachel was the one that liked to watch, not Mike.

He hadn’t yet come to a decision, and it turned out he didn’t have to, because as Logan and Rachel ground and rutted together, someone knocked on the front door. Logan lifted his head from Rachel’s neck.

“Don’t answer it,” she panted.

Logan went back to chewing on her collarbone. Another knock came, louder this time, and more insistent.

“Shit,” Logan bit out, beginning to extricate himself from Rachel’s limbs.

“Ignore them,” she said. “They’ll go away.”

Logan shook his head. “It’s all right. It’ll only take a second to get rid of whoever it is.” He grabbed a bathrobe from the back of the door and pulled it on, and then pointed a finger at the bed, moving it back and forth between Mike and Rachel. “You two don’t move.”

Rachel sighed and lay down on her back, holding her breasts in her hands and absently thumbing her nipples. Seeming to finally remember Mike’s presence, she glanced over at him. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m getting a little chilly, to be honest.” He sat back on his heels, feeling the strain in his shoulders from the cuffs. “Hey, are you sure this is what you want? Maybe I should take off.”

Before she could answer, they heard loud voices from the front room.

“This is none of your goddamned business.” That was Logan.

“What the hell….” murmured Rachel. She got up and pulled on one of Logan’s button down shirts, holding the edges together with one hand, and padded out to join Logan.

“Okay,” called Mike after her, “I’ll just be in here. Waiting.” He yanked impotently at the cuffs and then froze in abject panic when he heard an all too familiar voice speaking loudly and with obvious anger. _Harvey._

“What are you playing at, Sanders? You clearly did not win the Jackpot, and you are therefore not allowed use of him.”

“Fuck you, Harvey. This has got nothing to do with the game.”

“It has everything to do with it. Judging by Rachel’s presence here, you have also involved an unauthorized party in matters which you agreed to keep strictly confidential. If you don’t want to make this any worse for yourself, you’ll get Mike out here immediately.”

“I swear, if you don’t get out of my apartment right now….”

There were sounds of a scuffle, something breaking, and then the wall shook as a large person was slammed into it. Three voices shouted over one another, cursing, followed by a brief silence. Mike had only a moment to wonder what the hell was going on out there, before rapid footsteps approached the bed and then halted abruptly.

He only had sufficient courage to keep one eye open as he looked over his shoulder at the person who stood behind him.

It was Harvey, of course.

Mike turned away, closing his eyes and wishing in that moment that he had a few hundred pounds of shellfish upon which he could gorge himself. At least it would be a quicker death than slowly dissolving in the acid bath of fury he’d seen in Harvey’s eyes.

 

******

 

After Harvey had freed Mike from his cuffs, he allowed Mike to get dressed before he frog marched him out of Logan’s apartment. Logan lay supine on the couch with Rachel crouched next to him, dabbing at his bloody lip with cotton balls and antiseptic, but Mike was so busy being mortified, that he barely noticed them. He kept his eyes fixed on his feet, watching them move forward to keep up with Harvey. That was all he felt capable of at the moment.

“Get in,” Harvey ordered.

Reluctantly, Mike looked up from his feet, surprised to discover himself out on the sidewalk, standing next to a sleek black sports car which presumably belonged to Harvey.

“I’d rather take a cab home,” Mike mustered the courage to say.

“I said, get in. Now.”

Mike got in.

The silence inside the car felt thick and dangerous. Harvey appeared too angry to speak, and Mike simply had no words. Hazily, he wondered where Harvey was taking him, and hoped it didn’t involve cement and overcoats – or perhaps he hoped that it did.

It took him about fifteen minutes to realize that they were headed to Brooklyn. When they hit the bridge, traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped completely. As the silence between them stretched, Mike felt the stupid need to say something growing inside of him.

“I consented,” he finally blurted out. “To everything.”

“What’s your point?” Harvey snapped right back, as if he’d just been waiting for Mike’s opening volley.

“Just that I don’t know why you had to go after Logan like that. It’s not like he was….” _Taking something you wanted?_ Perhaps it was true. Mike couldn’t be sure, but he also couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Harvey sighed, his expression brooding. “I hate repeating myself, but I suppose I’ll have to. He signed a contract, as did you. During your term as Jackpot, you’re not allowed to fraternize with non-winners outside of the game. They don’t win, they don’t get you, simple as that. Plus, he told Rachel about the game. I’ll be surprised if he isn’t kicked out completely.”

“I doubt that he cares.”

“There are fines to be levied against him. He’ll certainly care about those. He won’t be allowed as a client at the firm any longer. But you should know all of this. It’s in the non-disclosure agreements.”

“Not in mine.”

Harvey shot him an annoyed look. “Did you even bother to read it before you signed?”

“Yes I did. Every word. The Jackpot version must be different than the one the players sign.”

“Mike, just admit you didn’t read it.”

And that pissed Mike off. Harvey had the nerve to call _him_ a liar? Well, he could absolutely make Harvey eat his words. Beginning with the first word on the first page of the four page document, Mike began reciting the agreement verbatim, with nothing left out, not a single comma or semicolon. Harvey let him get to the end of page two before he finally interrupted him.

“Okay. Stop. I concede. You read it.” He laid his hand on the horn to urge the driver in front of them forward the couple of feet that the traffic had moved. “How did you do that?” He sounded genuinely curious, and a little less angry.

Mike hesitated. He’d stopped bragging about his eidetic memory years ago, after realizing that most people found it either freaky, or threatening, or both, and not cool at all. Now he shrugged and said, “I remember things. No big deal.”

It shouldn’t have been so gratifying to hear Harvey answer, “No big deal, huh? Seems like kind of a big deal to me. That’s an impressive skill.”

Mike had to turn to look out the passenger side window so Harvey wouldn’t see his blush and his reluctant grin.

Traffic began moving forward again, as mysteriously as it had stopped, and silence fell between them once more. It lasted until Harvey pulled up in front of Mike’s building and turned off the engine.

“Why, Mike?” was all he said.

_Why what_? Mike wanted to counter, but he knew precisely what Harvey meant. Why had he gone with Logan and Rachel? Why had he agreed to be their entertainment for the night? He knew the answer, and it was a simple one: because Harvey had chosen Dana Scott over Mike, and that hurt. And Mike was tired of being so damn lonely.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “I was drunk, maybe?”

Harvey shifted his body to face Mike. “I don’t believe you. That’s not the whole story. I’d like the truth.”

“No.” Mike laughed shortly. “No, you wouldn’t like it all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike chewed his lower lip, considering, and then came to a decision. If Harvey really wanted the truth, he’d give it to him. Screw pride, and screw self-preservation. “You left with her.”

“I – _what?_ ”

“With…with that woman. Dana Scott. You might say I was jealous, because yeah, that’s true. But more than that, I was forced to face up to the fact that I was having stupid thoughts about you. Stupid unrealistic thoughts. How’s that for the truth? How pathetic is that?”

Harvey’s brows were furrowed, and his expression suggested he had trouble believing what he was hearing. “Mike, what are you saying?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. _Duh_. Are you really that dense? Or are you just that cruel that you need to hear me say it out loud? To spell it all out for you? Fine. I’ll say it. I like you. I’m attracted to you. Like, crazy attracted. I fantasized having hot, sweaty monkey sex with you. I actually believed there was a chance that you felt the same way, because I mean, what was that all about, at the hospital? You violated my wrist. You may have gotten my wrist pregnant because, hello? Protection? You tongue-fucked my wrist and when I have my sad little wrist baby in eight and a half months, who is going to help me raise the thing? Not you, wrist-baby daddy. Not…what?”

Harvey was staring at him, eyes dark and incredulous. “My God, you are completely, fucking insane,” he finally got out.

“Quite possibly,” Mike muttered. He toyed with the door handle, thinking that maybe this would be the perfect opportunity to escape, and the perfect time to phone Trevor and beg for his drug dealing job back, because how could he ever look Harvey in the eye again after that humiliating bout of verbal diarrhea?

Harvey spoke again before he could flee into the night, so he forced himself to sit there and listen to whatever the man had to say.

“First of all, you ninny, I left with Scottie _on business_. I required a witness to execute a settlement agreement. I would have taken Louis with me, but I needed him to be at the holiday party when Donna showed up with Sheila Sazs – but we’ll get to that in a minute. Scottie and I went to pick up this.” He reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a small piece of paper which was folded in half, and handed it to Mike.

Warily, Mike accepted the paper and opened it up to find a cashier’s check from _Lotus Moon_ , made out to him. He felt his mouth fall open, and he looked between the check and Harvey several times before managing, in a strangled voice, “That’s…there’s too many zeroes. Is this a mistake?”

A small smile softened Harvey’s expression. “It is not. Those idiots nearly killed you. If I’d thought I could squeeze any more out of them, I would have. You’ll need to sign the settlement agreement, but I assumed I could safely speak on your behalf to say that the amount was acceptable.”

“Oh, fuck me. It is so unbelievably acceptable.” With the check he held in his hands, Mike could theoretically afford Harvard, could afford to quit his job, could afford to make all of his dreams come true – or most of them. He believed he could safely say that his dreams of Harvey were effectively dead after what he’d done tonight. Joy and grief slammed into him all at once, a confusing tidal wave of emotion that left him gasping and wiping at his eyes with the back of his shaking hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He found himself beginning to hyperventilate, and forced himself to breath slowly and carefully. When he could speak again, he choked out, “I’m sorry, Harvey. This was…And you….I am such a fool.”

“That’s something in which we’re in agreement,” said Harvey wryly. He laid a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I wish you would have trusted me. Thinking what you did, I suppose I can understand your actions. I appreciate your honesty just now. That doesn’t mean I’m any happier about that scene I walked in on.”

Mike hung his head, feeling like the biggest jerk that ever walked the face of the planet.

“In retaliation,” Harvey began, and Mike jerked his head up to stare at him, suddenly alarmed. “In retaliation, I’m about to tell you something that will hopefully make you feel even worse. Donna tells me you saw her come in with Sheila Sazs in tow. Can you guess what that was about?”

Mike licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Harvard?”

“Exactly that. If Louis plays his part and manages not to screw this up, that black mark next to your name might just magically disappear.”

Mike was afraid to give in to that hope, but it was a hard thing to resist. “Thank you,” he repeated. “And congratulations, I do feel worse.” That wasn’t completely true. He was grateful beyond words, while at the same time weighted with regret. He stared down at the check he held in his hands, fighting the urge to pet it and call it his “precious.”

“Harvey,” he finally sighed, “why couldn’t you have just told me what you were up to? And why can’t you...?”

“Why can’t I what?”

“Why can’t you tell me what you want from me?” He heard the plaintive, needy edge to his voice, and didn’t care. “You advance, and retreat, and flirt, and hint, and then you cut me out completely. I was brutally honest with you just now. Although it was brutal for me, more than anything, with the wrist, and the….”

“Please,” Harvey interrupted, “do not repeat that speech. Ever.”

“Then answer my question. What do you want from me?”

Harvey leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. He pursed his lips as if thinking, as if wishing he were anywhere but here, sitting in a dark car sharing difficult truths with Mike Ross.

“First of all, I didn’t tell you about the settlement, or Sheila Sazs, because I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted – ” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I wanted to bring it all to you in one package, all tied up with a bow, after a nice dinner, maybe a little champagne. It was supposed to be….” He sighed and pressed his lips together, as if the confession pained him. “It was supposed to be my grand, romantic gesture, after I won you at the next game.”

Harvey finally looked back over at Mike. “Is that honest enough for you?”

Mike knew he was gaping like an idiot, that he needed to say something, but he sat there with his mouth hanging foolishly open as he tried to digest what Harvey had just told him. “Ro-romantic?” he managed to stutter.

Harvey had apparently run out of words – or courage – because he only grimaced in return.

Mike waited until his racing heart had slowed to a more manageable rate before continuing. “Would you like to come up?” he asked hopefully. Maybe this night could be salvaged after all.

Harvey gave a low grunt and looked away. “I can’t do that.”

“Is it because of Logan and Rachel? I explained about that. I was drunk and reckless, and honestly, I wasn’t having much fun when you interrupted us.”

“The image of you on your knees and cuffed to Logan Sander’s bed is something I could have done without, and I…I don’t know, Mike. I need to do some thinking.”

“Come upstairs and do some thinking in my apartment.” Mike knew he was beginning to sound desperate, but he’d jettisoned pride and self-respect somewhere over the East River.

“No, Mike. I’m bound by the same agreement as Logan. I bent the rules once already at the hospital. If I abandon them completely, that just makes me the worst kind of hypocrite.”

“Then I’ll quit my job.” He waved the check at Harvey. “With this, I don’t have to work for a while.”

“Maybe. But if you want to go to Harvard, you’ll need to remain employed at the firm.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that is the stipulation I communicated to Sheila, that’s why.”

Mike’s shoulders slumped and his head thudded back against the headrest. He didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. “You are a Class A manipulative bastard.

Harvey’s expression softened and he put a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Yes, I am. Now take your check and go inside.” He reached into the back of the car and retrieved an envelope, which he handed to Mike. “That’s the settlement agreement. Read it, sign it, and return it to me first thing Monday morning. You can deposit the check at any time after that.”

Feeling both defeated and elated – a weird combination to be sure – Mike put his hand on the door handle, but hesitated. “Are you still going to try to win me?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Not an encouraging answer, but Mike supposed it was better than a flat out “no.” He took his check and went inside the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Is anyone still talking to me? Anyway, thanks for reading. And I hope everybody's 2015 is off to a good start, and that you have a wonderful year.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your comments and kudos!

During the last week and a half of December, the pace in the billing department ratcheted up from high gear, to strap-in-and-pray-the-g-force-doesn't-rip-your-face-off gear. Mike's co-workers no longer had time for their customary bitching, and only managed the occasional grumble or feral growl.

For his part, Mike was grateful for the distraction provided by the extra workload, since all previous distractions had dwindled noticeably. He'd sworn off pot and was staying strong. He had begun to suspect that poor decision-making followed his consumption of alcohol, so he had sworn that off as well, at least for the time being. Quick, meaningless hookups had lost their appeal. He could only watch the same, recycled episodes of _Law and Order_ and _Criminal Minds_ so many times. He'd sucked _Netflix_ dry over the last few months. All things considered, then, staying late and working himself into a state of utter exhaustion seemed the best option to cope with the frustration and regret that were tearing him up inside.

He couldn't get past the idea that he had blown his chance with Harvey. He'd been foolish and reckless, and he could blame the alcohol all he wanted, but that would never erase the look he'd seen on Harvey's face as he bent close to Mike to unlock the handcuffs from Logan's bed, or the way he'd refused to make eye contact as Mike got dressed, instead staring a hole in the far wall. What had been in that hard-eyed, pinch-mouthed gaze? Mike imagined he'd seen disappointment, disgust, and a sort of weary resignation, as if he'd expected their relationship (if you could even call it that) to blow up in his face all along.

In his weaker moments, Mike obsessed over the gift that Harvey been preparing him, and the planning and effort it must have entailed. He replayed, over and over, Harvey’s confession of hoping to spring the surprise on Mike, of the intended “romantic gesture.” The whole thing seemed so at odds with the Harvey he thought he knew, that he found himself turning it over in his mind, twisting it this way and that, trying to sync “romantic” Harvey up with brusque, snarky, alpha asshole Harvey. In the end, he was left with the empty truism that “sometimes you just never know about people.”

If he'd had the time, he might have bribed Donna with a nice lunch, and attempted to find a way into Harvey's thought processes. But he didn't have time, not even for lunch, and more importantly, he lacked the energy. Depression wormed its way through him, originating from several places at once. Since his parents died, the holidays always hit him hard, and now with no Grammy...and no Trevor.... As much as he despised self-pity, it had managed to sink its claws into him, and wouldn't let go.

He continued to dutifully deliver coffee to Donna each morning, but refused to succumb to the compulsion to glance into Harvey's office. It gave him a painful sort of pang to be that close to the man after the way they had left things between them the night of the party. He hadn’t heard anything about the poker game, and could only assume that it was scheduled as usual, and despite everything that had happened, Mike planned to be there

The settlement check from _Lotus_ _Moon_ was safely in his bank account. After New Year's he intended to investigate his options for finishing his four year degree. He'd heard nothing about Louis and Sheila Sazs and Harvard, and his feelings on all of that had grown...ambivalent. Although losing Harvard had been one of the Big Regrets in his life, he simply didn't know if he cared about attending there anymore. His enthusiasm for becoming an attorney had similarly deflated. During his months at Pearson Specter, he'd encountered so many unpleasant, driven, neurotic train wrecks who had passed the bar that he had to wonder if that was the right path for him.

He'd been tempted a dozen or more times since the party to simply tap out, to quietly get up and leave his desk, walk out of the building and never look back. When Helen Gramble stormed into the department with her hair on fire, cursing like a Tarantino character and demanding to know why one of her client's bills had gone out without her authorization, the temptation to flee had been nearly overwhelming. What stopped him was the pure satisfaction he got from showing Gramble the marked up bills with her recognizable handwriting, in her signature purple ink, stating clearly, "Okay to send."

After he'd sent her on her way, he heard an approving grunt from Kendra which he found strangely comforting. On the strength of that one quiet expulsion of air, he vowed to stick it out until the end of the year, if only because he preferred not to let his co-workers down. When he had time to breathe, and could think clearly, he would decide his next move.

 

*****

 

The Pearson Specter staff received their holiday bonus checks on the Monday before Christmas, and the office closed at noon on Christmas Eve, which was on a Friday this year. Monday would also be a holiday, taking the place of Christmas day. All the other billing specialists seemed thrilled over the prospect of the long weekend. Mike felt only dread over the abundance of empty hours that stretched ahead of him.

Before they shut down their computers and took off, they exchanged their token gifts: body lotion from Lisa, homemade pecan rum cake from Ruthie, hand-knitted mittens from Heidi, humping dog USB drives from Kendra, and Starbucks gift cards from Carla. Mike had been at a loss as to what to get all of these females, and had finally violated the ten dollar limit to order hand painted silk scarves he’d found on Etsy. He swore to the ladies that he'd bought them from one of the fake handbag vendors on Canal Street, two for twelve dollars. He kept to himself the fact that they had, on average, cost him eighty dollars apiece.

Mike was the last to leave the department. He dawdled, indecisive, debating whether or not to text a cheery "Happy Holidays!" to Harvey, or to maybe find the nerve to face him in person, to just pop casually into his office and wish him a great weekend.   In the end, he settled for being a cravenly coward, and ducked out without a word to anyone.

******

 

Mike had just arrived home and had enough time to change out of his work clothes when his phone rang. It was Vanessa.

"How's Miami?" he asked her in lieu of a greeting.

"Raining like a motherfucker when my plane took off seven hours ago."

"You're back in New York? Did you solve the case?"

She laughed, and the sound warmed his insides. "I got lots of pictures, and even managed to collect a USB drive full of dicey information. Want to come over and analyze all the evidence with me? I have hot cocoa."

"And mini marshmallows?"

"Sweetheart, do you even have to ask? I'll break out the schnapps and the good sprinkles."

He laughed, and realized it was the first time he'd done that since the night of the holiday party. "Oh, the good sprinkles, huh? How can I resist?"

"Great. I'm waiting downstairs. Pack a bag and get your cute little butt down here."

"Wait." Mike shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Are we even allowed to see each other this months? I recently found out – "

"Ah. Right. Those damn contracts." She was quiet for a few seconds, although Mike could hear a soft tapping, as if she was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "I say, fuck 'em. It's Christmas. If Harvey wants to get all up on his high horse over a little cocoa, toasted cheese sandwiches and classic movies, then he's obviously been tying that Windsor knot too tightly."

"I don't know....if he finds outs, you're the one who'll take the hit."

"Maybe. You let me worry about that. I don't want to spend Christmas Eve alone, and I doubt that you do either."

That had been his plan, but now that he had other options, it sounded like a terrible plan. "I'll be downstairs in five minutes."

"That's the spirit."

 

*****

 

_This is Mrs. Norman Maine. <APPLAUSE and CHEERS>_

"Oh my hell, is she going to sing _again_?" asked Mike sleepily.

"Shut up. No one disses my Judy. You're crying too, and you know it."

Vanessa shut off the DVD of and tossed a box of tissues at Mike's head, which he caught with only a minor fumble.

"You shut up," he muttered, blowing his nose discreetly.

They'd skipped the "analyzing" Vanessa had promised and instead hunkered down with cocoa, sandwiches, popcorn, cookies, and Ruthie’s rum cake, while gorging on Hepburn and Grant in _Bringing Up Baby_ , followed by Loy and Powell in _The Thin Man,_ and finishing up with Judy Garland and James Mason in the 1954 version of _A Star is Born_.

"Maybe we should have watched those in reverse order," Mike mused, watching her carry the empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen. "That last one was really fucking depressing." He rearranged his nest of blankets and throws and turned onto his back on the couch, getting comfortably settled. "So, what's next?"

"Next is Merry Christmas." A wrapped present landed on his stomach.

"Ooph. I mean, yay, presents." He leaned over and rooted around in his bag for his present to Vanessa. He hadn't known she would return from Miami so soon, but he’d wanted to be prepared just in case. "Here. That's for you."

"Oh, goody." Vanessa sat back in her armchair, curling her legs underneath her, grinning like a little kid as she petted the wrapped box. "You go first."

Mike tore the paper from what turned out to be a large box, and removed the lid. Inside was a black wool coat. He pulled it out to get a better look. "Nice," he said. It was more than nice. It was beautiful, and classy enough for even a big shot attorney to wear.

"Try it on," Vanessa urged him.

He stood up, shedding blankets, and shrugged the coat on. When he saw that it fit him perfectly, something occurred to him which he'd nearly forgotten. "Gee, however did you guess my size?" he asked innocently. "Because I know you would have never measured me without my permission, right?"

He might have expected anyone else to blush or even deny it, but Vanessa only grinned at him. "Hey, twenty bucks is twenty bucks. And it was for a good cause. Which reminds me, will I get to see you in your tuxedo sometime soon?"

That gave Mike an idea. He spoke as he took off the coat and folded it back up in its box. "If you're not doing anything for New Year's Eve...."

At that, Vanessa slid her eyes away from him and then seemed to become altogether too interested in the curls of ribbon festooning Mike's gift to her.

"Van? What's up?" He set the box on the coffee table and sat back down on the couch.

She sighed. "I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"But you're going to anyway?"

"It does sort of concern you." She made a show of holding the present up to her ear and jiggling it gently. "Sounds heavy."

"Go on. Open it. Afterwards, I'll pry all of your secrets out of you."

"I'd like to see you try." She showed even less mercy to the wrapping paper than Mike had. When the box was free, and she could see the printing on it, she turned a disbelieving eye on Mike. "This can't be what I think it is."

"Oh, can't it?"

"Hm." Vanessa produced a pocketknife from somewhere and slit open the tape holding the top of the box together. She separated the edges, and then gave a groan of almost orgasmic bliss. "Oh, Mike. Night vision goggles. How did you know?"

"Other than you bitching my ear off about the pair you lost last month?"

She unpacked the goggles and turned them over, examining them minutely. Frowning, she said, "These are top of the line. They're too much, Mike."

" _Lotus Moon_ money. I couldn't think of a single thing to do with it better than splurging on a friend."

She stood up and moved to the couch to give him an awkward one armed hug -- awkward because she hadn't let go of the goggles. "You're the best Jackpot I ever won," she said in a watery voice.

"And you're the best winner I was ever won by. By whom I was ever won. Shit, I've been editing bills for too long."

"So far," she said, packing up her goggles and curling back up in her chair.

"So far what?" He yawned and stretched out on the couch, draping layers of blankets over himself.

"The best winner so far."

He suspected he knew what she meant. After all, she’d been friends with Harvey far longer than with Mike. He was reminded of her earlier enigmatic comment. “So now that we’ve done all the obligatory Christmas stuff – ”

“We haven’t sung any carols.”

“And we won’t. Last time I tried to sing I got punched in the face. Stop changing the subject. What’s going on New Year’s Eve that you don’t want to tell me about?”

“All right. Just keep in mind that you aren’t exactly supposed to know about this. It concerns the game.”

“Well, shit. Of course it does.”

“This latest infraction of Logan’s – ”

“You _know_ about that.” Mike wanted to pull all of the blankets over his head and hide, but more than that he wanted to watch Vanessa’s face as she continued her explanation.

“We all do,” she said gently. “All of the players, that is. And nobody believes that you’re at fault. The consensus is that you were simply a drunk, horny young man, easily led astray.”

“Oh. Oh _god…..”_ Mike covered his face with his hands. “So basically, I’m the NC-17 version of _Pinocchio_? How flattering.” He peered between his fingers to see an affectionate smile on Vanessa’s face. He lowered his hands. “Do I become a real boy anytime soon?”

“Mike. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Logan comes out looking much worse in the story. Harvey has called for a vote on whether or not to ban him from the game. These hearings, per the contract, are to take place one week before the next game. This year, that falls on New Year’s Eve.”

“And I’m sure everyone is thrilled about that.”

“It can’t be helped. But there’s more. It seems that Jessica Pearson is unhappy about all of the trouble and upset that have occurred since Harvey brought you in as the Jackpot.”

Mike frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s not the only one.”

“Apparently, she warned Harvey after you ended up in the hospital, that if anything else… _untoward_ …happened, that she would disband the entire game. Permanently.”

“And that’s a bad thing because….?”

“Because, my dear, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. I’m not saying it would be the end of the world, but this game is, in my opinion, a great tradition. Despite the secrecy involved, there have been whispers and rumors in the legal world for decades. It’s legendary. Pearson Specter’s claim to fame might be that they hire only Harvard attorneys, but they also have The Game. Associates who are competing to become partners also yearn to be let in on the secret, to discover if it truly exists. It’s sort of like the firm’s secret society. I’m certain they imagine all sorts of unseemly and seedy things occur at, or as a result of the game.”

“They’d be right about that,” Mike interjected.

“Nevertheless, if Jessica cancels the game, it signals the end of an era. Pearson Specter becomes just another boring, cookie cutter firm, lacking mystery and danger and attorneys who are willing to take a gamble. And Harvey Specter will always be the guy who destroyed the game. It could destroy him professionally. It would be one more nail in the coffin of our society as a whole, signaling a growing homogenization and demonstrating our unwillingness to take chances.”

Mike let all of that sink in. “You’re so full of shit,” he finally said. “It’s a fucking poker game, not a metaphor.”

“Not buying it, huh? I did have more – stuff about the grittiness of battle, dueling it out for supremacy once a month, that sort of thing. No? Okay, fine. I just think it would be a shame if we disbanded. I’d miss it, and all of the glorious dysfunction it involves. You may have noticed that I don’t have much going on in my life outside of my work.”

Mike hummed in agreement. “Ditto. So do you think Harvey can change Jessica’s mind?”

“There will be arguments for and against. Most of them are attorneys, after all. They love a good debate. Jessica will hear both sides, and judgment will be handed down.”

“No vote?”

“Just on Logan’s future in the game, not on the game itself.”

Mike thought it over. A plan began to form in his mind. “It can’t take more than two hours, though, right? We could still have a nice New Year’s Eve. So, what do you say? Do you want to see me in my tux?”

“You could always just send me some selfies.”

“Vanessa. Let me crash the hearing. I want to speak on Harvey’s behalf. And what the hell, on Logan’s behalf too. If Jessica’s taking us down, let’s make it epic, blaze of glory style.”

Her mouth twisted as she appeared to think it over. “I agree that you should be there. Jessica needs to hear your perspective. And by all means, wear the tuxedo. But I think you should keep your New Year’s plans open. Just in case.”

“Just in case? Just in case what?”

Vanessa shrugged, but wouldn’t say anything else on the subject. She stood up and stretched, rather like a cat. “I’m going to go crawl into my big comfy bed. Do you have everything you need out here?”

He nodded up at her. “Thanks for my present. And for…everything.”

“You too, darling.” She blew him a kiss on her way out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter....

Mike woke up late Christmas morning to the smell of bacon frying, and with the beginnings of an idea percolating in his mind. He and Vanessa ate brunch together, and she drove him home around two. By the time he unlocked the door to his apartment, the idea had blossomed into a full blown plan. He took a moment to hang up his new coat (and pet it lovingly), grabbed his laptop from his bedroom, and carried it to the couch, where he spent the rest of the day and most of the night doing preliminary research.

On Sunday, he typed up some drafts, trashed them, and started again. He drank his way through three pots of coffee, and didn’t make it to bed, but did finally pass out on the couch around three in the morning.

On Monday, the firm was still closed. He’d done all he could to implement his plan, and would need to wait until Tuesday at the office to obtain the missing piece. He felt edgy and restless, so in the early afternoon he took his bike out for a long ride to work off some of his excess energy. Later that night, he was glad he’d gotten the exercise, because otherwise falling asleep might have been impossible, rather than simply difficult.

Tuesday morning, he arrived at work early. His first stop was the coffee shop in the lobby, where he ordered Donna’s drink and found a table with a good view of the building entrance. He settled in for a wait of unknown duration, hoping that Donna’s coffee didn’t grow unacceptably cold by the time he delivered it.

He spotted Rachel at five minutes before seven, and hopped up to sprint across the lobby, entering the elevator bay behind her, just as one of the doors opened. She ignored him when he got on, although with several people between them, she might not have seen him. By the time they reached the forty-seventh floor, it was just the two of them. He waited until the doors slid apart, and opened his mouth to speak as he followed her out.

She beat him to it. “Come with me,” she said tersely, grabbing his arm and dragging him in the opposite direction of the billing department. She didn’t speak again until they reached her office. “Shut the door,” she ordered as she took off her coat and stowed her purse inside one of the desk drawers.

Mike closed the door and sat across from her. He’d had a whole spiel at the ready to ask for his favor, but Rachel apparently had her own agenda. Curious, he stayed quiet and waited for her to go first.

She sat down and chewed her lip for a few seconds. “I’m actually glad we ran into each other. I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since the…you know… _that_ night. Let me just start off by saying, I’m sorry. I was pissed at Logan, and feeling insecure, and I was drunk, and a little high.”

He furrowed his brow. “I’m not quite sure….”

She sighed and began shifting papers and pens around on her desktop. “Logan’s a great guy,” she finally said in what seemed to Mike like a complete _non sequitur_. “We have no secrets from each other. Although, if they were really secrets, how would we ever know for sure, right?” She frowned, tapping her fingers distractedly. “Anyway, I’ve known about that poker game ever since Logan and I got back together a few months ago. After you became the jackpot, all he ever seemed to talk about was what he wanted to do with you when he won you.” She blushed.

Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway. “Such as?”

“Ah.” She laughed nervously. “Let’s just say that Logan likes his toys.” She frowned and began massaging her left nipple, realized what she was doing, stopped, and laughed again. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, as long as it’s me he’s playing with.” She looked down at the desk and chewed her lip some more. “To be honest, I got off on hearing his plans for you, to begin with. It was hot, and kind of dirty.” She met his gaze again. “But, my god, he just wouldn’t shut up about it. And I started to get jealous.”

Mike’s mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding. Of me? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Rachel covered her face with her hands and peeked out at him through her fingers. “Shut up,” she groaned. “Don’t say nice things about me, or I’ll just feel worse.” She lowered her hands. “I was obsessed with this mental picture I had of you two going off together and Logan deciding he preferred you. He has a history of cheating, which I know because he cheated on his wife with me.”

“Okay, I'm confused. You hated the idea, but you still wanted to be part of it?”

“I know, right? I got this dumb idea that everything would be okay if I could control the situation, so when Logan asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I lied and told him I’d fantasized for a long time about watching two guys together. He’d been pushing for a threesome – the other kind, with two women – and he was really into the idea of having me there when he and you…”

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to fight off tears. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I was scared I’d lose my nerve, so I took some E on top of three glasses of wine. Not my smartest move. I cuffed you so you couldn’t participate, which was supposed to give me the chance to show Logan that he didn’t need anyone but me.” She sniffed. “I feel so stupid. Everything backfired pretty badly. Logan’s been distant ever since then, and Harvey won’t even look at me now, much less give me any work to do. I love this firm, but…Never mind that. I just want to make it up to you. If there’s anything I can do….” She stared at him with pleading eyes.

Mike pretended to have misgivings, but inside he was high fiving himself. He’d stalked Rachel this morning for the precise reason of asking her for a favor. “Well…there is one thing….”

“Name it.”

“I need a copy of the non-disclosure agreement the players signed. Would you be able to get your hands on Logan’s?”

“What do you – no, never mind. I’m not even going to ask why. Yes, I can absolutely get it. I’ll make a copy for you and have it to you by tomorrow morning. Will that work?”

“Perfect.” Mike considered leaving it at that, but Rachel still looked so miserable that he took pity on her. “I do forgive you, you know. I’m not an innocent in all of this. I agreed to it, after all, and my motives weren’t exactly pure. I was angry at…someone, for something that it turned out they didn’t do. So I’ll see your preemptive voyeurism, and raise you some nasty revenge sex.”

Rachel smiled and nodded knowingly. “Harvey.” She spoke the name as if there could be no question about it.

Now it was Mike’s turn to blush. “I know. Who’s the stupid one now? W-a-a-a-a-y out of my league.”

“Are you serious? That man is crazy about you. He wanted to tear Logan apart. He was all, like….” She grimaced and flexed her hands into claws. “Like, _arrrrgh, get your hands off my man_.”

Mike had to laugh at her Sasquatch impression, or whatever it was supposed to be. He wanted to believe her, but he knew otherwise. “That’s all past tense now. I think I may have managed to annihilate any feelings that might have been developing.”

She shrugged. “Agree to disagree. Think about it. After he had the chance to preview all the assets you had on display, do you honestly believe he’d pass up the chance to tap that?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Rachel Zane: hopeless romantic.”

“Ha ha. Mike Ross: failed comedian.”

He stood up and pointed a finger at her. “The apologizer doesn’t get to insult the apologee…apologizee…whatever.” He picked up Donna’s coffee drink and opened the door.

“Wait. We should have lunch together. Let me take you out to one of my favorite places. My treat. You know, if you want to. If you can stand to be around me.”

Surprisingly, that sounded like fun to Mike. “Yeah, okay. Not this week, though. I’m up to my eyeballs in bills right now. Speaking of which, I better get down there before they send the bloodhounds after me.” He saluted her with the coffee cup and headed to Donna’s desk.

For once, she was there.

“Hey, Richie,” she greeted him, “hand that caffeine over.” She lifted the lid and gave the wilted whipped cream a skeptical eye. “What’s this? Did you get lost on the way to grandmother’s house?”

“Are you the grandmother in this scenario? And who’s Richie?”

“Richie is Richie Rich, with all the dollar bills. And…shut up.” She took a sip of coffee. “Bleh. Too cold.”

“Now you’re getting your fairy tales mixed up.” Because he couldn’t seem to stop himself, he looked past her and into Harvey’s office. Empty. “Where’s the big bad wolf?”

“Probably out somewhere huffing and puffing.”

“Nice. That's three. I do believe you've achieved the big bad wolf hat trick. The crowd goes wild.”

“There was no wolf in _Goldilocks,_ smartass. And weren’t you supposed to be shutting up right about now?”

“Everyone knows that three bears are the fairy tale equivalent of one big bad wolf. And are you always this cranky in the morning? Better get that caffeine in your brain immediately.” He backed away, smiling, pleased to have what he thought was the last word.

“Oh yeah?” she shot back. “Well, your house is all made of straw, and…and the porridge…ah, _damn it_.”

Mike was still grinning when he pushed through the door into the billing department, convinced that he would be the first to arrive and could get a strong start to his day. He was wrong. Everyone was there, and they had all gathered around his desk, never a good omen. As he edged his way past them to get to his seat, he caught sight of what they were looking at. A large manila envelope with his name on it, stamped “confidential,” sat smack in the middle of his desk.

Kendra was poking at the envelope with one finger. Mike watched as she picked it up and flipped it over to inspect the sealed flap. Mike hip-checked her and plucked it neatly from her fingers.

“Oh, hey Mike,” she greeted him, not looking even a little bit flustered at being caught in the act.

"He was here," Lisa breathed excitedly. "Himself. He walked right in and slapped that down on your desk not two minutes ago."

"He who?" asked Mike.

Ruthie placed one hand over her chest, as if gripped with sudden heart palpitations. "Harvey Specter. He never shows his face in here. Not ever."

Mike examined the front of the envelope. Just his name, written in an arrogant flourish, and the confidential stamp. His co-workers were arrayed in a half-circle around his desk, all of them watching him with acute, avid interest, holding their collective breaths as they waited for him to open it. No, that wasn't happening. He tucked it under one arm and strode out of the department, making straight for the men’s room and locking himself in one of the stalls.

He perched on the edge of the seat and stared down at the envelope in his hands. His heart was trip-hammering in his chest as he consider all of the possibilities. He drew in a deep breath, and then ran a finger under the flap, breaking the seal. Inside, he found two pieces of paper. The first was blank except for two sentences written in Harvey's scrawl: _All the balls are now in your court. Do whatever pleases you._

The second piece of paper was an acceptance letter to Harvard, dated Christmas day, and signed by Sheila Sazs. He scanned through it, and saw that the start date was open-ended. He had up to five years to enroll.

The words on the page blurred, and he wiped the back of one hand over his eyes. He took a few moments to appreciate this victory, and to let it sink in. Nothing was stopping him. He could get his life back on track. He should be jumping up and down and doing a happy dance. So why did the thought make him feel so empty and adrift all of a sudden?

Stupid, non-manly tears continued to prick his eyes as he tried to catch a decent breath. “Fucking blew my house down,” he muttered bitterly.

This was the gift Harvey had intended to give him, but instead of the romantic gesture Harvey had planned, this felt more like a dismissal and a goodbye. He'd told Mike that he wouldn't get the Harvard ban lifted unless Mike stayed at Pearson Specter. It appeared he'd changed his mind, which told Mike everything he needed to know about his future chances with Harvey. Their too brief window of opportunity had closed, slammed shut by Mike himself when he left the party with Logan and Rachel.

That thought might have started the waterworks right up again, but instead it filled him with hot anger. Was Fate really that capricious? Were the wants and desires of intelligent humans really that fragile and easily smashed to smithereens? He didn't know the answer to that, but his sense of fair play wanted it to be a resounding "NO."

He thought of all the work he'd done in the last few days, and of the meeting of the poker players on New Year's Eve. The Big Dramatic Gesture he'd been planning now seemed close to pointless. Should he even bother seeing it through?

Frowning, he re-read Harvey's note. _Do whatever pleases you._ What did that even mean? Was it some kind of a test? And what, precisely _would_ please Mike? Taking care not to damage the Harvard letter, he slid both pieces of paper back into the envelope. He needed time to think. Remembering the piles of work waiting for him on his desk, he sagged, feeling them like a physical weight. For half a second, he toyed with the temptation of walking out the door and leaving all of the work for his co-workers to handle.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. Even if he didn't feel any particular loyalty to them, it was too much of a dick move to heap his own work on top of what they already had. It was only four days. Four days until the rush was over. Four days until the end of the year. Four days until the super-secret poker hearing.

Four days to decide what is was that would please him.

 

******

 

In the end, Mike decided to crash the meeting as he had planned. Vanessa offered to bring him with her, but he declined, stressing that he was doing this on his own, and she shouldn’t involve herself. He still had his key and his key card to the Bat Cave, and what was a Big Dramatic Gesture without a Grand Entrance? He'd waffled several times on whether or not he should wear the tuxedo. It was by far the nicest thing he'd ever owned, and he didn't know if he'd ever have another reason to wear it, so Friday morning he zipped it into its carrying bag, and took a cab to work. At work, he hid it behind his new overcoat, which drew several compliments from his co-workers.

The frenzy of last minute billing peaked just before lunch. After that, a few stragglers showed up, but with a deadline of one o'clock -- imposed so that the nerds in Finance could crunch the numbers and crank out bonus checks before close of business -- the final four hours of the day were spent in mopping up, filing completed draft bills, and answering previously ignored e-mails.

As the clock ticked down to five, Mike's nerves jittered with both excitement and trepidation. He changed his mind six times, but managed to talk himself back into his planned course of action following each bout of anxiety. At four, Carla emerged from her office and told them they could leave early. She led the stampede out the door, while Mike lingered, pretending to check his e-mails one more time.

Once he had the room to himself, he grabbed the tuxedo, headed to the men's room and, feeling a bit like Clark Kent, he locked himself into a stall to pretzel himself out of his work clothes and into the tux. He had to chase one of the studs that slipped from his fingers and squirted out of the stall and under the sink. As he squatted on the floor in his socks, pants on and dress shirt hanging open, straining to reach the stud with the side of his face pressed to the sink counter, he was considering himself lucky that everyone else in the office had quite likely left already.

The door opened and Harvey walked in. Wearing a tux. He looked perfect.

Harvey froze, a perplexed look on his face. "You know, Mike, it works better if....No, I got nothing."

"I dropped my...." Mike figured his face turned red as he strained harder, until he felt his probing fingertips touch the tiny stud. He snatched it and jerked upright to find himself face to face with Harvey. He showed him the stud in the palm of his hand. "This."

Harvey's gaze traveled up and down Mike's body, taking in every detail. "Hot date?" he asked, studiously unconcerned.

"Uh, sure." Mike mimicked Harvey's elevator eyes. "You too?"

Harvey gave a pinched-mouth grimace. "That remains to be seen. The night is young."

"Gonna go trolling, huh?" Mike tried not to sound as if he cared. He waved a hand at Harvey's attire. "Nice bait."

"It's proven useful in the past."

"Oh. Well, good for you. Anyway...." He pointed a thumb at the stall. "I'll just go finish up getting dressed." He escaped behind the closed door to fasten the studs in his shirt, tuck it in, slip on his dress shoes, and slide into the jacket. All the while, he heard Harvey on the other side of the door, walking to the urinal, the rustle of fabric as he freed himself, the hiss of his urine stream hitting porcelain. A loud flush, and then a few seconds later, water ran in the sink. It was all weirdly intimate and unnerving.

It finally grew quiet outside his stall, and Mike assumed that Harvey had left. "A Happy New Year's might have been polite," he groused to himself as he hung the bow tie over his neck and tried to remember the instructions from the YouTube video he'd watched to learn how to tie it. He botched it the first two times. Maybe the mirror would help.

He opened the door and nearly screamed like a little girl to find Harvey leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed.

" _Jesus_ , Harvey," Mike hissed, holding his chest, "I thought you left."

"I didn't want to miss the unveiling. I seem to remember you look rather delicious in a tux."

Mike ignored the surge of warmth the words triggered, and stepped to the mirror to work on his tie. On the first try, it came out crooked. On the second, one side was ridiculously bigger than the other. On the third, Harvey _tsked_ and slapped Mike's hands away.

"Let me," he said. His deft fingers moved with practiced expertise.

Harvey was standing so close, Mike could smell his cologne, and his hair gel, and his scotch-scented breath. He wanted to dissolve into those scents, to taste the scotch on his own tongue, to close his eyes and fall, just to see if Harvey would catch him. His eyelids fluttered.

"There." Harvey stepped back and Mike got a look in the mirror.

"It's perfect," he acknowledged. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Harvey didn't move for a few seconds, as if waiting for something, for a word or signal from Mike. When none were forthcoming, he turned and left without another word.

Mike eased out the breath which had been trapped in his lungs. Chemistry intact? _Check._ Enigmatic asshole still an enigmatic asshole? _Check, check, checkitty check._

He stared at himself in the mirror. _What the fuck are you doing?_ he asked his reflection, but the wide-eyed idiot that looked back at him didn't have any answers. Mike straightened his spine and tried to look flinty-eyed and resolute. If it all blew up in his face, so be it. He'd either get what he wanted tonight, or he could borrow a page from Harvey's playbook and troll the bars for a quick hookup. After he told Harvey and everyone else to go to hell.

Not that that is what he wanted. Not that it would please him even a little bit.

 

******

 

With five hours to kill, Mike grabbed his coat and messenger bag and headed to the bar across the street, where he treated himself to a burger, onion rings and several beers. He received a few propositions, mostly from tipsy women, who he turned down as politely as he could. At seven, he was roped into a trivia contest hosted by the bar. His team quickly picked up on the fact that Mike knew all the answers, and he led them to overwhelming victory. The four team members each walked away with a $50 gift certificate for their next visit to the place.

The trivia game ate up two hours, and between nine and ten, Mike lost badly at several rounds of darts, which mollified a couple of the trivia losers who had accused his teammates of bringing in a ringer. He waited until ten had come and gone before making the return trip across the street. He wanted to make sure he was the last to arrive. When he slid the key card through the slot, and the door to the poker lair slid open (to the sound of a lonely crow cawing – _ha ha, Benjamin_ ), he saw that he had at least succeeded in this.

The chairs at the table were filled with the original eight players, and Jessica stood a few feet away.   She had been speaking, and but she stopped mid-sentence when the door opened to admit Mike. Only a subtle nostril flare betrayed her annoyance. "Mr. Ross. Is your calendar broken? This is a closed meeting, and you were not invited."

Surprising everyone, including Mike, Vanessa spoke up. "That’s not true, Jessica. I invited Mike."

A confusion of sound erupted as everyone seemed to speak up at once, although Mike couldn't tell if they were objecting to his presence, or objecting to Jessica's objections. Only Harvey and Logan remained quiet. Harvey's brows furrowed, but he did not react otherwise to Mike's presence. Logan favored Mike with a chilly smirk. Faint bruises still marred his handsome face.

Jessica's voice overrode all the others, silencing them. "That's enough. All right, Vanessa, perhaps we should add you to the agenda for the evening."

"Why?" Mike asked clearly. That got Jessica's attention, and she turned her unfriendly gaze back to him. "On what grounds?" he added, less assured.

"On the grounds that this meeting is none of your goddamned business."

He gave an incredulous laugh. "None of my business? Are you being serious right now? This is nothing _but_ my business."

"Oh, is that right?" Her gaze had gone from unfriendly to dangerous. "You want serious? Fine. You are not a player in this game. You're nothing more than a failed drug dealer who lied to get a job at my law firm, and then foolishly submitted to Harvey's blackmail. You're little more than a toy to the people in this room -- the prize in their Crackerjack box."

Harvey made a sudden movement, as if about to speak, but Vanessa beat him to it.

"Not to me," Vanessa said. "I've come to consider Mike one of my dearest friends."

"Or me," chimed in Louis. "I placed him in grave danger and allowed disaster to befall him, and he's been nothing but generous and forgiving in return. If not for Mike, my lady love would not have come back to me. I'd still be bereft. I'll be in his debt forever."

Jessica gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Hyperbole aside, the way I heard it, Harvey's the one who convinced Sheila Sazs to hit town for a booty call."

Benjamin and Tom snickered.

Louis wasn't amused. "If you were a man, I'd punch you in the throat for maligning what Sheila and I have. It's so pure, and primal, and -- "

"For Christ's sake," said Cameron. "Is this really necessary? My wife is expecting me home before midnight, so if we could just move this along, that'd be great. I don't give a shit if Mike sticks around. What's the big deal?"

Paul cleared his throat and spoke. "My wife is waiting as well. And in all honesty, I have Mike to thank for that. The, er, events that transpired at my house woke me up to just how unhappy I'd made poor Bianca. We've begun talking again, and our marriage has undergone a renaissance which I had not believed possible before Mike entered our lives. I say, let him stay."

"I believe that's four in favor," said Vanessa.

Jessica glared at her. "Nobody called for a vote."

"I call for a vote," proclaimed Benjamin gleefully.

"I second that emotion," said Tom. He giggled. "I mean, motion."

Mike eyed him critically, and decided that he was high again.

"So moved," Louis concluded.

"All in favor, signify by saying 'aye'," said Vanessa.

_Aye,_ resounded loudly in the room.

Through a clenched jaw, Jessica said, "All opposed?"

"Fine," she gritted. "You may stay. Go sit in the corner."

"I'll stand," said Mike. He stared her down from across the table.

"Super." This was spoken with a huge, fake smile. Mike wondered if she'd find a way to make him pay for his audacity later, and decided he didn't care. "Harvey, why don't you start? I believe you have a grievance against Logan to address."

Harvey shifted in his chair. "Logan violated the terms of his signed agreement when he approached Mike at the firm holiday party."

"Approached?" asked Paul. "How do you mean? Bianca and I approached him as well."

Benjamin giggled, and Mike gave him a sharp look. Was he high too? Now that he was paying attention, he and Tom did have a look of conspiracy about them, whispering together and elbowing one another in the ribs.

"Didn't you hear the story?" asked Benjamin. "Logan and Rachel Zane are swingers, and they tried to lure Mike in for some wild orgy sex."

Tom snorted. "Who knew she was such a dirty birdie?" He and Benjamin dissolved into giggles once more.

"Hey," fumed Logan, "that's my girlfriend you're talking about."

Tom held up a placating hand. "Hey, kudos, man. It's all good. It's just -- and no offense, Mike -- why would you pass her up for his skinny ass?"

Harvey slapped the table hard, making Tom jump. "We're getting off track here. The details are irrelevant. The only point that needs to be addressed is Logan's violation of the agreement."

"We're not swingers," Logan scoffed. "And Mike said yes."

"Well, well, well," said Paul, raising an eyebrow. "You said yes to them, but when Bianca offered you what amounts to basically the same arrangement -- "

Mike interrupted him. "It wasn't the same thing at all. Plus neither Logan or Rachel tried to shoot me."

"I'm sure," said Harvey sourly, "that given enough time in your company, it may have come to that eventually."

Vanessa punched him in the arm. "That's mean."

"Ow. Moving along, Logan has already agreed to pay the fine, which will go to the next winner as per the terms of the agreement. All that's left is to vote. So, for Jessica's sake, let's make it official. I move that Logan Sanders be banished from the game."

"Second," said Paul.

"So moved." Harvey produced a Yankees cap from under the table and dropped it on the surface. “A white pebble signifies you vote for him to stay, and a black one signifies a vote for banishment.”

Mike watched, fascinated in spite of himself, as each player reached out a hand to drop a pebble in the cap. “You honest to God vote whether or not to blackball players? That’s some straight up medieval shit.”

No one answered him, all of them being too intent on watching Harvey pull the stones one by one from the hat. When all eight stones (Jessica not having a vote) lay on the table, Mike counted three black and five white. He knew, from what Harvey had once said, and from reading the contract Rachel had copied for him, that a unanimous vote was required to kick a player out of the game. Logan smiled smugly, but refrained from blatant gloating.

“Logan stays,” Harvey declared. He dropped the stones in his jacket pocket, presumably to redistribute at a later date. Before he could remove the baseball cap from the table, Benjamin snatched it up and slapped it on his head backwards. Harvey sighed audibly, but didn’t object. “Moving along, since the game is unofficially sanctioned by the firm, Jessica is here to conduct an investigation – ”

“An evaluation,” she corrected him.

“Whatever. You have the floor.”

“I’ve questioned most of you privately,” Jessica began, “and I’ve reached the conclusion that this monthly poker game has become a liability, carrying a threat of serious exposure to the firm. Events have spiraled out of control in the past several months. As most of you know, I was forced to clean up the game once before, and I’m not inclined to do it again. Therefore, I regret to tell you – ”

“Not me,” said Mike.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You never questioned me. Why is that?”

Jessica narrowed her eyes at him. Lowering her voice to a dangerous purr, she said, “Tread lightly, Mr. Ross.”

“No, I don’t believe I will.” The air around him seemed to heat almost imperceptibly, but he plowed ahead. “I should have a voice here. All the shit that happened? It happened to me. But you know what the flip side to that is? Shit happens.”

“My, my, what a brilliant legal mind,” Jessica sneered. “Tell me, how has the New York State Bar managed to get by without you all these years?”

“The problem,” said Mike, ignoring the dig, “is that the original players, the ones that started this game before all of you got here, created something with flagrant, gross inequities built into it. The players were given all the power. I happen to know that the first jackpots were hired prostitutes, and the prize was sex. That may have evolved into something more complex over the years, but let’s be honest: the players still have the power. The question is not, why have so many disasters befallen one jackpot? I think the real question should be, why doesn’t this sort of thing happen more often?”

Jessica said, “You’re wasting your breath. I’ve made my decision. The game is over. End of story.”

“But it doesn’t have to be. It evolved once before – because of you, Jessica. Why can’t it evolve again?”

Crossing her arms, Jessica paced a half-circle, back and forth, on her side of the table. “Evolve how?”

This was the opening Mike had been waiting for. He smiled sweetly at Jessica and fished out a stack of papers from his messenger bag. “Like this.” He began handing out copies to each player, and one copy to Jessica.

“What the hell is this?” she asked.

“Just read it.” Mike backed up and leaned against the door.

He had to remind himself to keep breathing while he watched the players and Jessica read through the new contract he had spent nearly a week drawing up. He’d already had Rachel proofread it for him – after swearing not to mention it to anyone – which she had done, and then just handed it back to him with a smile and three words: “Don’t change anything.”

His eyes darted around the table, trying to gauge everyone’s reactions. Harvey grunted softly, nodded his head a few times, and began to smile, albeit reluctantly. Vanessa’s face lit up and she gave Mike a wide grin and a thumb’s up. Louis furrowed his brow and burst out with, “Are you freaking kidding me?” Halfway through the second page, Cameron began to laugh, and was soon joined by Paul’s deep-throated chortles and snickers from Benjamin and Tom. Logan appeared reluctantly impressed. Aside from Harvey, Mike kept his closest watch on Jessica’s face, but she had mastered the poker face like nobody else in the room. All that he could determine from looking at her was that he’d gotten her attention.

One by one, the players finished reading and lay the document back on the table. Jessica flipped the last page back in place and considered Mike.

Cameron broke the dense silence first. “Who wrote this for you?”

“No one,” Mike answered. “I mean, I wrote it myself.”

“Hm. You have an interesting mind. You ever consider a career in the legal profession?”

“Careful, Mike,” said Harvey, “Cameron has a Svengali complex.”

“That’s not even a thing,” Cameron scoffed.

“Guys,” Louis interrupted, “shut up. Mike, if this really is your work, it reassures me that you actually do belong at Harvard. To be honest, I’ve been feeling guilty that I might have sex-hypnotized Sheila into writing that acceptance letter.”

“How do you sex-hypnotize someone?” Benjamin asked, as if he desperately wanted the answer. Maybe he did.

“You’ll find out if you ever grow up,” Louis shot back. “To complete my thought, this is an intriguing proposal, but I’d like to hear it explained in non-legalese. How, exactly, would this work?”

Suddenly aware that he still wore his overcoat and was beginning to perspire heavily, Mike shrugged out of the coat and hung it from one of the hooks on the wall. Nine expectant faces stared back at him, and for a moment he was back in Mrs. Grundle’s ninth grade biology class about to give his speech on _The Descent of Man_ , complete with sweaty palms and roiling stomach. Deciding it was only the onion rings making him queasy, he took a breath and launched into his explanation.

“I drafted this new contract with an eye toward addressing the power imbalance inherent in the game. It’s pretty simple, really. There are now nine players instead of eight.”

“And the ninth player?” asked Tom. “Would that be Jessica?”

All the lawyers at the table gave Tom a pitying look.

“Uh, no. Not Jessica. The jackpot. Me. And we no longer play for money.”

“Oh.” Tom appeared befuddled. “I don’t get it. What are we playing for, then?”

“Each other,” Harvey answered for him. “Mike is proposing that the first player out of the game, becomes the prize for the winner.”

“Exactly,” said Mike, grateful for the assist. “And as far as the winner/jackpot scenario goes, sex is off the table. Period. Unless, of course, both parties were previously involved with one another. I’ve included Appendix A, which is a sample of a hold harmless agreement that the jackpot is required to sign before he or she goes home with the winner. Exposure to the firm is nullified.” He shrugged. “That’s about it. I think it goes without saying that if everyone at the table is a potential jackpot, they’ll think twice about inflicting anything, er, _untoward_ upon their own jackpot. Oh, and outside of the game, all players are free to pursue any and all contact and relationships with other players that they so choose.”

“I think it’s brilliant,” said Vanessa. “I vote yes. Are we voting?”

Harvey smiled approvingly at Mike. “Let’s go around the table. Yes or no. If you have any concerns, state them. I’ll go first. Yes.”

“Yes,” Vanessa said again.

They continued around the table, all of them agreeing to the new terms, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. When they’d finished, all eyes turned back to Jessica. She, for her part, held Mike in the intense, laser-like focus of her gaze.

“Very clever,” she finally allowed. “This is a surprisingly well-crafted document. I only have one question for you.”

Mike felt all of his dangly man-bits try to crawl up inside his body at the look on her face. He swallowed noisily. “Ask away.”

She cocked her head to one side. “What in the hell are you doing wasting your talents in the billing department?”

Mike’s mouth opened, and then closed again. “Billing?” he finally ventured.

Jessica laughed, appearing genuinely amused. “I have two things to say, and then I’m going to get out of here and go enjoy what’s left of my New Year’s Eve. First of all, if all the players – and you, Mr. Ross – sign this new agreement, and continue to abide by it, I will allow the game to continue. One whiff of trouble, and you’re done.” She pointed a finger and moved it in a slow circle to indicate all of them. “The second thing I have to say is simply this.” Now her finger pointed directly at Mike. “Take the gift that Harvey and Louis and Sheila Sazs have given you. Go to Harvard. Bring me a law degree from there, and we’ll see. Maybe I’ll give you a job.” She addressed the table. “We good here?”

Nods and verbal assents followed. She gave a vaguely regal wave and swept out of the room.

 

******

 

The contracts were signed and collected by Louis, who promised to make copies to send to each of the players. One by one, they departed for whatever New Year’s plans they had. Finally, only Mike and Harvey remained in the room. Harvey wouldn’t stop staring at him, and Mike began to get flustered.

“So…ah….” Mike reached for his coat and folded it over his arm. “Less than an hour until midnight. Shouldn’t you be out trolling for that midnight kiss?”

“Should I?” Harvey leaned back in his chair, appearing completely at ease. “Is that where you’re headed? Or do you have someone waiting for you?”

The look in Harvey’s inky eyes were doing funny things to Mike’s heart, and stomach, and ability to breathe. “No,” he admitted.

“So you got all dressed up just for us?”

Mike walked slowly to the table and sat down next to Harvey, throwing his coat over the chair on his other side. “No.” His heart hammered away inside his chest. He gathered his nerve and said, “Just for you.” Harvey’s pupils dilated at the admission. “Only you,” Mike whispered. He waited, but Harvey didn’t respond. Mike shut his eyes briefly. “In…in case you decided to forgive me.” He breathed past incipient tears, fighting for control. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I get it. You’re done. I blew it.”

“You could have written yourself out.”

“What?” Mike frowned at Harvey, confused.

“Out of the contract. You can leave anytime. You have your _Lotus Moon_ money, and Sheila’s letter. The game doesn’t require nine players. So why did you stipulate that you would remain as one of us?”

“Maybe I just wanted to get in on some of that stipulating action.” Harvey’s serious expression didn’t alter at Mike’s feeble attempt at humor. Mike sighed. “What do you want me to say? Could be I’m out for revenge, and this is all some sinister plot to win each of my previous tormentors and give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“No. That’s not it. I honestly believe you don’t have a vindictive bone in your body. You’re so quick to forgive everyone, so how I could I not do the same for you? Not that there was anything to forgive, really. If you’d done what you thought I had done….” Harvey tilted his head to one side, studying Mike. “You want to know what I think?”

Mike shrugged as if it didn’t matter, when he absolutely, desperately did want to know what Harvey was thinking.

“I think….” Harvey trailed off. His gaze shifted to Mike’s mouth, and then he leaned in and brushed his lips against Mike’s. His tongue dipped inside Mike’s pliant mouth, just a there-and-gone tease before he lifted his head once more. “I think you and I have wasted too much goddamned time.”

At his words, Mike’s heart felt like it stopped for the barest fraction of a second, and started up again with a jolt that shuddered through him. “You’re goddamned right we have,” he breathed, and crushed his mouth to Harvey’s.

The banked fire between them flared into an inferno in the space of a few seconds. Harvey’s hands held Mike’s head in place while his mouth moved hungrily against Mike’s. Their bodies shifted together, in perfect sync, until Mike lay halfway on the table, his legs spread wide to let Harvey press close. Harvey leaned over him, mouth still busy pillaging Mike’s. Mike felt hands at his waist, fumbling with the fastening of his pants. He managed to raise his torso enough to twist out of his jacket, which he flung across the room before stripping Harvey of his jacket and sending it to join the other.

“I thought,” Harvey breathed, yanking Mike’s pants down to his knees, “that sex was off the table.”

Mike laughed and untied Harvey’s bowtie. “If you’d rather, we can do it on the floor. But neither of us is the jackpot tonight, so the table’s good.”

Harvey pulled slightly away so he could fix Mike with a serious look. “Make no mistake, and let me be perfectly clear. You are absolutely my jackpot. It may have taken me stupidly long to recognize that fact, but I won’t forget.” He bent over Mike for another kiss, tongue stroking inside his mouth, tasting and claiming.

Harvey’s hands, impatient and clumsy, stripped Mike of the rest of his clothes. Studs popped out and flew in every direction. His pants got hung up on his shoes, which Harvey levered off and tossed aside. The removal of his briefs stalled momentarily as Harvey stopped to mouth him hungrily through the thin cotton. When Harvey finally had Mike naked and draped wantonly across the table, he took a step back to look his fill. He still wore his pants and untucked shirt _._

“You need to get naked faster,” Mike complained.

“No.”

_Huh. Okay. Mike could work with that._ “Please tell me you brought supplies.”

“I’m not going to fuck you for the first time on a damn table, Mike.”

“Then all of this nudity is going to waste?” He palmed his dick and leisurely stroked himself off.

By way of an answer, Harvey sat down in one of the chairs, rolled it between Mike’s legs, and slapped Mike’s hand away. Maneuvering Mike’s legs over his broad shoulders, he helped him scoot closer. Mike’s erection bobbed in front of his face. Mike burned for Harvey’s mouth, it was so close, but Harvey seemed inclined to tease him a while longer. He cupped and kneaded Mike’s ass with his palms and planted little kisses and nips along the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, from knee to groin. Mike moved restlessly, digging his fingers into Harvey’s hair and letting out breathy moans.

About the time Mike thought he might lose his mind, moist warmth enclosed the head of his cock. He looked down the length of his own body to watch Harvey’s cheeks hollow subtly as he suckled and licked into Mike’s slit. “Please,” Mike whispered. “Oh, god. _Please._ ”

Harvey deep-throated him, and Mike arched his back, holding the edges of the table to prevent himself from grabbing the back of Harvey’s head and choking him with his cock. With his lips stretched around Mike, Harvey applied suction and swirled his tongue like a pro, bobbing up and down and working Mike’s balls with one hand. When that hand moved to his entrance, and a blunt finger shoved into him, Mike jackknifed and cried out from the almost too intense dual sensations. Harvey’s fingertip fucked in and out, his mouth sucked and slurped, and Mike could feel his release rushing in on him.

“I’m close,” he gasped. He pulled feebly at Harvey’s head, but Harvey had other ideas. He jammed two fingers deep inside Mike, found his prostate and kept rubbing. Mike teetered on the edge, and it was the look on Harvey’s face of intense, singular concentration that pushed him right over. “Harvey,” he shouted, and came down Harvey’s throat.

When his brain began working again, Mike opened his eyes to the sight of Harvey licking his lips, satisfied as a cat. “That,” breathed Mike.

Harvey gave him a quizzical smile. “That what?”

Mike’s grin felt like it might split his face in two. “That right there was the best blow job of my entire life.”

With a negligent shoulder lift, Harvey said, “You taste every bit as good as I imagined.”

Mike struggled to sit up. It wasn’t easy, when every bone in his body seemed to have dissolved. “Let me return the favor.”

“No,” said Harvey. “Get dressed. I have plans for you.”

“Well, damn. That sounds promising.”

“Hurry up. Harvey tossed Mike’s pants and briefs into his lap and went after his shirt. “It’s almost midnight.”

They put themselves back together as best they could, although half of Mike’s studs were missing. Harvey ushered him out of the room and they took the elevator down to the forty-seventh floor. Mike eyed Harvey curiously as he dragged him down the dark hallway.

“Did you forget some work?” he asked, only half joking.

Harvey didn’t answer, just kept hustling Mike along until they reached one of the conference rooms.

“This one has the best view,” he told Mike.

“Of what?”

Harvey drew Mike with him to the window. Between two other buildings, they could just make out Times Square, the bright lights and crowds of revelers. “Just in time. There goes the ball drop.”

Mike pressed against Harvey’s side, but he wasn’t watching the scene below, he was watching Harvey’s reflection in the window. His relaxed, almost gleeful expression temporarily robbed Mike of breath. When fireworks erupted above Times Square, Harvey turned to Mike, grabbed his shoulders and turned him so his back was against the window. Pinning him in place with his body, he fitted his mouth to Mike’s and gave him a kiss so slow and thorough and tender that it felt like a confession and a declaration. Mike grabbed his lapels, feeling his knees grow wobbly. Harvey’s erection poked hard and insistent against his belly.

Harvey broke away and whispered, “Happy New Year,” one hand holding Mike at the back of his neck.

“Happy New Year.” Mike ground his hips against Harvey’s. “Are you ready for your happy ending?”

“So ready. But not here. Let me tell you what’s going to happen now. I’m going to take you home, and take all of those clothes off you again. I’m going to lay you down on my bed and explore every inch of you. Then I’ll take my time getting you ready. I’ll open you up and – ”

Mike stopped him with another kiss. “Sometimes,” he said, running his knuckles over the bulge in Harvey’s pants, “you talk too much.” Another kiss. “Show, don’t tell.”

So Harvey did. He took Mike home and showed him.

 

******

 

Harvey slammed into him again and Mike’s knees slid forward over the sheets. He put his hands on the headboard to brace himself, and Harvey thrust into him again. “Ungh,” said Mike. Sweat lubricated the slide of Harvey’s chest across Mikes back, and trickled down Mike’s arms. “Harder,” Mike moaned. “I want to feel this tomorrow.”

Harvey’s teeth grazed Mike’s shoulder, followed by the rough slide of his tongue. His fingers dug into Mike’s hips as he rocked into him. “You feel amazing,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling the back of Mike’s neck. “I could live inside of you.”

He picked up speed, setting a rough, choppy rhythm. Mike pushed back to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust. He felt like he was flying, like he might levitate right off the bed until he butted up against the ceiling. Then Harvey shifted his hands, moving one to Mike’s shoulder, and the other around his middle, taking his cock in his hand and jacking him off with sure, warm strokes as he pistoned in and out of him. Mike moaned his approval.

“Let me hear you fall apart,” Harvey panted, his hand moving faster and more insistently. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

As if only waiting for Harvey’s permission, Mike’ body responded to the command. His balls tightened, he threw his head back, and for the second time that night he heard himself yelling Harvey’s name as he came hard, losing himself to sensation for long moments.

Harvey slammed into him half a dozen more times, snaked both arms around Mike and froze, buried inside him, teeth digging into Mike’s shoulder. Damp flesh muffled his deep groan, but Mike could feel it vibrate all the way through him, and he nearly came again just from that.

Mike let go of the headboard and fell flat on the bed. Still buried inside Mike, Harvey collapsed on top of him, both of them struggling to catch their breath.

“That,” Harvey muttered, making Mike huff out an exhausted laugh.

“I concur,” he murmured drowsily.

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there joined together. His brain had called it a night, and he remained barely aware as Harvey eventually pulled out, left the room, returned, cleaned Mike up and removed the towel he had spread on the bed in anticipation of the mess they made.

He crawled into the bed next to Mike, laid a possessive arm across his middle, planted a kiss under his ear and whispered, “We are doing that again.”

It seemed so obvious it didn’t need to be said, but Mike nodded his head in fervent agreement, and between one nod and the next he lost the fight and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words and encouragement, and as always, thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Five Weeks Later**

 

Mike’s phone _blooped_ with a text alert. He thumbed it on and swiped the screen – and snickered at the message from Harvey.

_Meeting with Mahler in five. Still finding dried jizz on my pants._

Ignoring Kendra’s scrutiny, Mike texted back: _I doubt that’s a first for you._

Mere seconds passed before: _Swallow it all next time or no soup for you._

Mike was unsuccessful at stifling his amused snort. He started typing out his reply.

“Mike’s got a boyfriend,” Kendra announced to nobody in particular, voice sly.

 _Then don’t thrash around so much when you come,_ Mike texted, before smirking at Kendra. “How do you figure?”

“Your thumbs are gonna get blisters if you keep up that pace on the texting, or sexting, or whatever you’re up to. I’m speaking from experience. And now you’re blushing. Yep, you got a boyfriend.” Seemingly satisfied with his reaction, she returned to browsing _Zappo’s._

_(Harvey) Hope you cleaned up the file room after._

_(Mike) Yep. Meeting Rachel there later. Not sure how tidy we’ll leave it._

A few seconds passed, during which Mike began to regret his teasing.

_(Harvey) I know you’re kidding, but I’m making you pay for that one._

_(Mike) Yes, please._

_(Harvey) You say that now…._

Mike shifted in his chair. He was putting his phone down, about to return his attention to work, when it _blooped_ again.

_(Harvey) Logan quit._

_(Mike) As your client?_

_(Harvey) The game._

Mike took a moment to absorb that. Logan had lost big, and become the jackpot at the January game.

_(Mike) Shit. What did Cameron do to him?_

_(Harvey) No idea. Replacement? Yay or nay? Think about it. Mahler’s here. See you at ten._

Mike sent him a kissy lips emoji, grabbed the first draft bill off the top of his stack and began editing.

 

******

 

Mike still had his apartment in Brooklyn, but perhaps a third of his clothes had already migrated to Harvey’s place, and Harvey had given him a set of keys two weeks earlier, so Mike no longer had to resort to cooling his heels before the game at the bar across the street. He biked to Harvey’s building after work, changed into jeans and t-shirt, and sacked out on the couch for a few hours with a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and Harvey’s laptop, working on his application to NYU.

He had less than a year of his undergraduate degree to finish. Columbia was not an option – he could hardly expect some Sazs-like miracle to appear and get him reinstated there – but he wanted to stick with something nearby. He hoped to take as many online courses as he could get away with, along with whatever night classes were available. He’d decided to tough it out in the billing department for now, because why eat up his Harvard money with living expenses? Just knowing he could walk whenever he wanted made the job more bearable.

Working in the same building, on the same floor, with Harvey made the job pretty goddamn fantastic.

Harvey had not yet appeared when Mike headed back out, but he hadn’t expected him. Harvey didn’t work late every night (thank God), but between Mahler and the latest bullshit with Tanner and Forstman, he’d been running himself ragged for the last couple of weeks. Mike had enlisted Donna’s help earlier in the day to get Harvey down to the file room on forty-five. At first Harvey had been irritated by the ruse, but once Mike locked the door and dropped to his knees, Harvey suddenly discovered that fifteen minutes in his schedule had miraculously freed up.

The downside was, he had to spend the rest of the day playing catch up. And cleaning dried semen off his expensive pants.

 

At five minutes before ten, Mike slid his card through the slot outside the poker room. Benjamin had replaced the sound effect yet again. Tonight the door opened to what sounded like a woman in the throes of a magnificent orgasm – not that Mike knew what that sounded like firsthand. He had to smile. Ever since Benjamin had begun hanging out with Tom, he’d grown noticeably calmer, but at the same time more eccentric. Mike put it down to trading in his Red Bull for Tom’s killer weed. Considering the IT Director’s tendency toward fanatical obsession, Mike predicted a trip to rehab somewhere in Benjamin’s future.

Vanessa and Paul had already arrived, and by the time Mike fixed himself a vodka tonic and microwaved a plate of pizza rolls, Louis, Benjamin and Tom had made their way in. Mike sat down as the invisible woman began moaning out her ecstasy once more, and Cameron entered, carrying a large, rectangular item that looked suspiciously like a painting, although it was completely covered in a canvas cloth.

Mike glanced at his watch. Six minutes after ten, and still no Harvey. Cameron stood near the table with the unknown object leaning against him – it came up past his hip – fidgeting in an un-Cameron-like manner.

 _Oh. Ohh. Ohhhhh GOD!_ screamed the “doorbell,” and Harvey strolled into the room, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He still wore his suit and tie.

 _Hot. As. Fuck._ An image from New Year’s Eve filled Mike’s thoughts, of lying naked on this very table. He took a gulp of his drink and tried to banish the image. He didn’t want a repeat of the January game, where he’d been so distracted by the Poker Table of Sex that he’d nearly ended up as the jackpot again.

Harvey caught Mike staring at him, and winked. Mike’s stomach flipped over, and he wanted to pound his head on the table. Why were they here, again? Why weren’t they home and naked and sweaty and….?

“What the hell is that?” asked Harvey as he passed Cameron on his way to the kitchenette.

Seeming to take this as his cue, Cameron cleared his throat. “It occurred to me that this place is a little, shall we say, drab. In the interest of brightening it up, I’m contributing some original artwork.”

With a flourish, he pulled the covering from the painting, and the room went suddenly, painfully silent.

It was an oil painting of Logan Sanders. A nude, to be exact. He reclined on a loveseat which had been covered with a royal blue blanket. He had his arms up behind his head. One leg, bent at the knee, was planted on the loveseat, and the other splayed long and lean on the floor. An open book, face down in his lap, preserved his modesty, but everything else was on sharp display, from eyebrows to nipples to leg hair to toenails. Perhaps his expression was meant to smolder, but to Mike’s untrained eye, he appeared pissed off.

“Holy mother of God,” Harvey rasped, nearly choking on his expensive scotch.

“Is that why Logan quit?” blurted Vanessa.

“Cool,” said Tom. He leered at Vanessa. “I hope Cameron wins you next.”

“It’s not that bad,” opined Paul. “Like Tom, I prefer the female nude, but you have an interesting style. Sort of an aggressively primitive realism. It brings to mind an entirely modern take on Goya's Maja. The nude one, of course.”

Harvey dropped into the chair next to Mike. “I didn’t know paint-by-numbers had smut selections. And don’t even think about hanging that atrocity up in here.”

“I think we should vote on it,” said Louis, who was currently at war with Harvey for some slight that Harvey claimed was entirely in Louis’s mind.

A quick vote was taken, which ended up six to two in favor of allowing the painting to go up. Only -Mike and Harvey voted against it. Mike hated the idea of having that picture on hand to remind him every month of his mistake. Harvey seemed unhappy about it for the same reason. Perhaps some late night vandalism was in their future.

Mike could only feel relief now that Cameron had never won him, because that could be his portrait. Looking around the table, he could see the other players worrying about that possibility for themselves.

Cameron leaned the painting against the wall, promising to see that it was hung before next month’s game. He joined the others at the table, and play began.

The first few hands were friendly and relaxed. The players chatted about their lives and work. No money had exchanged hands, but each had been allotted the same number of chips as usual. Piles of chips grew and shrank and grew again.

No longer limited to two drinks, Mike kept his glass filled, growing pleasantly buzzed as the first hour ticked over to the second. He and Cameron appeared to be in the lead for the moment. Everyone anted, and then Vanessa dealt out five cards to each player. Mike’s cards were crap, and he folded. He was trying to play smart, for once. As the other players discarded cards and had new ones dealt to them, Mike went to the kitchenette for more vodka. He heard the drone of voices behind him as the players bet and raised and raised some more.

Mike had his head in the refrigerator, examining the cheese selection, when he heard Harvey’s smooth, steely voice declare, “All in.”

Mike popped up like a jack-in-the-box. _Huh?_

He turned and watched as Cameron matched Harvey's bet, and then called. They showed their cards. Mike was too far away to see what each had, but it was clear from their reactions that Cameron had bested Harvey.

Harvey had just become the jackpot.

Cameron raked in the huge pile of chips. That one hand had made him the clear frontrunner.

Moving in slow motion, Mike dumped out his fresh drink in the sink, and reached for a coffee mug. While the other players called impatiently for him to get back to the table, he slapped a K-cup into the Keurig, and brewed himself a cup of coffee, because he needed his wits about him if he intended to win Harvey tonight -- and incidentally, save Harvey from his worst nightmare.

 

After that, it seemed to Mike that every player at the table stepped up their game, became more serious, more deliberate, more diabolical, and most of all, more intent on winning Harvey Specter. Mike could sympathize. After months of mental anguish, he'd finally won Harvey for himself, and could attest that he was a prize worth having. As his luck ebbed and flowed over the next three hours, and he frantically calculated the odds in his head to give his luck an edge, he reflected that the nerve-wracking uncertainty he was feeling about Harvey's fate must have been what Harvey had experienced during Mike's tenure as jackpot.

For Harvey's part, he appeared to take his fate in stride, at least outwardly. He took off his jacket and tie, and made himself comfortable in the designated jackpot armchair in the corner, reclining and eventually seeming to fall asleep. Mike knew better. He'd heard the charming little snuffles Harvey made when fast asleep, and right now Harvey was utterly silent.

Predictably, Tom went out next, on a pair of threes. No wonder he kept losing, thought Mike, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Next was Paul. He bet everything on a full house -- eights over twos -- but Mike got him with four jacks. Ben didn't have a dramatic exit. His chips simply disappeared in a slow drip of betting which was either colossally stupid or colossally apathetic, Mike wasn't sure which. At this point, Benjamin and Tom disappeared into the hallway for a few minutes, and came back in, giggling and tripping over one another to see who could get to the snacks first.

That left Vanessa, Louis, and Cameron. Cameron still had the most chips, but he hadn't won a pot in a while -- which meant he was probably due. On the next deal, Cameron scowled in disgust at the five cards Louis had given him, and announced, "I'm out."

Mike studied his own hand. He had an ace, seven and jack of hearts, a two of hearts and a two of clubs. A flush wasn't a bulletproof hand by any means, but it was a hell of a lot better than a pair of deuces, or even three of them, if he managed to draw a third. So he tossed the two of clubs to Louis and held his breath. When Louis passed him a facedown card, Mike willed his expression to remain blank. He tipped up the edge of the card.

King of hearts.

Mike's own heart felt like it did a happy pirouette in his chest, complete with butterflies and cascading rose petals. He breathed out ever-so-slowly, and allowed a faint frown to touch his mouth and draw his brows down before smoothing out his features again. He looked up to find Louis watching him, a calculating gleam in his eyes. Mike smiled blandly back at him.

"Hm," said Vanessa. "What to do...what to do....?" She pursed her lips and twitched her mouth back and forth several times. Finally she pushed her smallish pile of chips into the center of the table. "That's three hundred. I'm all in."

Louis matched her bet easily, as did Mike, before calling. They slapped their cards down face up on the table. Vanessa had three queens, and Louis had a straight.

"Damn it," said Louis and Vanessa in perfect unison.

Trying not to smile too broadly, Mike raked in the chips. Vanessa was out, and Louis was definitely vulnerable.

On the next hand, Cameron managed to pick off Louis with three tens. It was now down to Mike and Cameron for the privilege of taking Harvey home with them. Mike was dead set on winning -- except that a small part of his brain wouldn't have minded owning a nude painting of his lover, even if Cameron was no Goya. But it would probably break Harvey in ways Mike didn't wish to dwell on if he had to sit -- or lie on a couch -- for a nude portrait painted by his former mentor and current arch-enemy.

So Mike buckled down and concentrated like he never had before. Three hands were dealt in quick succession, where neither of them had anything worth betting on, and they traded pots, leaving them with nearly equal amounts of chips. The choice of game tonight had been almost exclusively five card draw. On a whim, Mike decided to switch it up.

"The game is Texas Hold 'Em," he announced, and dealt out two hole cards each to Cameron and himself. He lifted the edges of his cards to find an ace of clubs and a six of diamonds. Not terrible, but not great.

The pre-flop betting was short and sweet. Cameron tossed in two hundred, Mike matched him and called, and then he dealt out the flop -- three face up community cards.

Six of clubs, seven of spades and nine of spades. So far, Mike had a pair of sixes, and the possibility of a straight. Across from him, Cameron was frowning at his own cards. Finally, he added five hundred to the pot.

 _This was it_. Mike could feel it. This hand would determine who took Harvey home. He had to get this right. He matched Cameron's bet and raised him five hundred. The district attorney gave him a long, flat stare before shoving more chips into the middle of the table and calling. Mike dealt out the turn, another face up card.

Ace of diamonds.

Mike's heart seemed to stutter in his chest before beginning a strong, slow pound. Two pair. It looked impressive, but beat practically nothing. No chance for a flush now, although a straight was still a possibility. He chewed his lip, then drew his teeth back, wondering suddenly if that was a tell. He glanced at Cameron. Why hadn't he studied the other players more closely, or quizzed Harvey on what their tells were? Too late for that now.

Face devoid of emotion, Cameron bet three thousand, nearly all of his remaining chips. Had there been other players in the game, or less equitable chip distribution, Mike might have gone for a bluff, or folded. None of that strategy mattered now. It was all or nothing. He matched Cameron's bet and called.

Total silence reigned as Mike reached for the final card -- the river. It was as if eight sets of lungs had drawn in a breath, and were holding it in anticipation of that one card.

 _Please,_ Mike begged the deck.

He turned the card up on the table and nearly passed out from relief. Ace of hearts. That left him with a full house, sixes over aces. Cameron could still beat him with an improbable draw of two aces, nines or sevens, but Mike was willing to bet -- literally -- that Cameron was looking at a straight at best.

Cameron's mouth contorted, but he didn't hesitate to push all his remaining chips into the center. "All in," he stated.

Mike mirrored his action, adding his chips to the pot. "Let's see what you got."

Looking directly into Mike's eyes, Cameron threw down his hole cards: eight of clubs and ten of hearts. Just as Mike had guessed. A straight.

Mike wasn't usually one for torturing people, but he couldn't resist it in this case. He let out all of the air in his lungs in a rush, allowing his shoulders to slump dejectedly. "Good hand," he said, frowning, and waited for Cameron to start reaching for the chips (probably from habit, since they had no monetary value) before straightening up and grinning. "But not good enough." He dropped his cards on the table, leaned back and raised both arms over his head. "Suck it, bitches," he crowed.

After a stunned silence, the other players erupted in excited exclamations. Mike didn't know if they were happy with the winner or not, and he didn't care. He let the sound wash over him, his eyes moving to the corner of the room. Harvey's eyes were open, resting on Mike with humor, gratitude and a multitude of promises that Mike would make sure he kept.

Vanessa patted Mike on the back. "Well done. That was hands down the most fun I've had in years."

She was seconded, and thirded, until everyone had agreed with her except Cameron and Harvey.

Cameron had been scowling since the reveal, but now he shrugged and forced a semi-good natured smile to his face. "Harvey probably wouldn't have been a cooperative model anyway. Good game, kid." He gave a casual salute to the room in general, collected his coat, and left.

The rest of the players stuck around a while longer, engaging in an animated post-game analysis, with more drinks poured and liberal laughter shared.

Mike sidled up to Harvey, unable to hide the grin still splitting his face in two. He leaned against the chair, and they watched the others enjoying themselves.

"At last," said Mike wickedly, leering at Harvey and twirling an imaginary mustache, "I have you right where I want you. Except, of course, not here, and certainly not with an audience."

"Ah, still a dewy-eyed innocent, I see." Harvey set his hand on Mike's ass, and slid it slowly downward until it was lodged between Mike's legs. He cupped and stroked Mike's balls through his jeans. "Sometimes an audience is just the right spice needed."

"Unh...ha ha." Mike wriggled away and side-stepped to put himself out of reach. "Stop that. I won you fair and square, and man, do I have plans for you. Big plans, I tell you."

Harvey stood up and slung an arm over Mike's shoulders. "I should hope so. Let's get out of here, and you can tell me all about them."

As they said their goodbyes, the other players waved happily at them before continuing with their revelry. They rode the elevator down to the parking garage and got into Harvey's Boxter.

"First off," said Mike practically rubbing his hands together in glee, "we should head over to my apartment. The shower tiles need re-grouting. And my oven? Definitely needs cleaning. I've got some rubber gloves with your name on them. You don't mind naked chores, I hope."

Harvey just kept smiling as he continued to drive in the direction of his condo.

"Um. Hello? Me winner, you jackpot."

"I don't think so," said Harvey.

"Oh, no, no, you are not getting out of this. As you are so fond of telling me, you signed a contract."

Suddenly, Harvey pulled the car over to the curb and parked, nowhere near home yet. He turned sideways in his seat to face Mike. "Your shower will not need re-grouting, nor your oven cleaning. Not by you. And most certainly not by me."

"You're a terrible jackpot," Mike sulked.

"Because," continued Harvey, "you won't be living there much longer."

For a supposed genius, Mike was sometimes slow on the uptake. "Oh. I won't? And why...? Hey. Did you just ask me what I think you asked me? Um, no, because you didn't ask me a damn thing." He was irritated and elated at the same time, and it felt strange, although he should have been used to it by now, after all the time he'd spent with Harvey.

Harvey wasn't smiling anymore, and he looked as serious as Mike had ever seen him. "Then allow me to make it official, as I had intended to do later tonight, before you started in on your ridiculous list of chores." He put one hand on Mike's shoulder, fingers moving in a light massage. "Baby, I've never said this to anyone before, but I...I just fucking love you." His throat worked convulsively for a few seconds. "I love you. Move in with me. Please?" His hand moved up to Mike's head, and he stroked his hair while his eyes remained locked on Mike's.

Mike's throat tightened. He felt incapable of speech for a moment, so he nodded his head jerkily. Finally, "Yeah," he got out. "Yes."

He moved his head at the same time Harvey did, and their mouths collided in a long, wet, bruising kiss.

Mike pulled away first. "I love you, Harvey. Also too."

"I know."

Mike climbed into Harvey's lap, and they probably would have sealed the deal right there, except the steering wheel and the gearshift kept jabbing them in inconvenient places. Frustrated, Mike fell back into his own seat. Harvey ground the gears and the tires squealed as the car shot away from the curb. In the condo's underground garage, his parking had never been so haphazard. He left the car at a sloppy angle, and who the hell knew or cared if he remembered to set the parking brake?

In the private elevator, already half-undone clothing dropped to the floor and stayed there. They made it to the bed, but it was a near thing. Mike had planned earlier to open up the topic of him topping Harvey, but he was so busy being opened up _by_ Harvey that his plan flew right out of his head. He had all weekend, though, with Harvey as his jackpot. They'd get to that. They'd get to everything.

With or without the game, Mike intended to give Harvey everything, and he knew that Harvey would do exactly the same for him. All their cards were finally on the table.

 

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus endeth the tale. Gawd, I'm such a frickin' sappy weirdo sometimes. Thanks for reading, and for all of the support and encouragement. Youse guys are da best.
> 
> A couple of you asked me about what I might be working on next. Step Two is in progress, and although the urge to delete it and pretend it never happened is strong, I’m stubborn and will more likely than not flail my way through to the end. I’m also kicking around an idea for a historical AU (like 19th century probably), plus a couple other shorter things (I know…vague). So…stay tuned for coming attractions!


End file.
